


Sanctuary

by Kittenly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Horror, M/M, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenly/pseuds/Kittenly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of a galactic war, an impossible discovery is made. Non-human life is detected on a planet in orbit around a black hole. In an peace initiative called Project Doctor, the wealthiest planet systems send their best and brightest on a collaborative mission to find it. They arrive, but what they find (or what finds them) is nothing they could have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have America/England listed as the "pairing," but this is a bit of a fuzzy distinction. The story doesn't deal with romance, but their relationship is the driving relationship, and could be read either with a romantic edge or without. I'm just not sure how to make that distinction in the tags.

One last transmission came in from "Project Doctor," one of the last hopes of reconciling the broken Human Empire. It would be remembered for generations by all the systems, written down in history textbooks for centuries to come.

The transmission feed blinked on—the first one in weeks—and the mission captain was slumped on the desk in front of the camera. The feed was grainy and flickery, with static cutting across the screen as if the camera had been damaged. The captain was breathing heavily, as if he had just been running.

"This is Eng—Captain Arthur Kirkland, with my final report," he said into the crook of his arm, then summoned the strength to lift his head. He stared into the camera, his eyes red rimmed and haunted. "It's gone. They're all gone."

He choked on his own words, trying to stifle the involuntary sobs that rose from deep in his chest.

"The lights," he said, dropping to a whisper. "The lights are going out." He leaned back, shaking like a bitter chill had caught him. His eyes flashed around the poorly lit room. "They…They came in the dark. There was nothing we could do to stop them. The lights…" He found the screen again. "I'm a deadman," he said, regaining some composure. "The mission is a failure. I can't get out, so the last thing I can do is make sure no one comes here again."

He stood, head hanging as he gripped the desk with white knuckles. "Quarantine the planet," he said. "Never again shall anyone set foot here. This is one mystery that you'll all have to learn to live with."

Something caught the man's attention from outside of the room. He straightened his back, and faced the door. His voice was quiet but calm when he spoke his last words:

"I'm sorry. Goodbye."


	2. Chapter 2

The great clear windows looked out at the small planet, and Dr. Arthur Kirkland watched it distantly. He held an expensive porcelain teacup in one hand, and his knuckles were white along it. All in all, he was impressed with himself, as that was the only sign of the anxiety that trembled in him. He would be departing for that planet in a matter of minutes, but he kept his breathing even, he didn't shake, and he didn't jump when he was addressed from behind.

"Dr. Kirkland," said a man in a dark green military uniform coming out from the bridge. "I'm to give your final briefing before you depart for the planet's surface."

"Continue, Major."

"The other representatives of this mission are primarily scientists, with various fields of expertise. We expect your proficiency as a linguist to be invaluable, particularly in the event you encounter the life we've detected. You represent our planet, England, and the whole Britannic system. Make us proud."

He paused. Arthur waited a moment before saying, "I understand. And...?"

"It has also been decided, in the most recent meeting of the heads of state from all participating systems, that you will be acting captain."

"What?" Arthur said as his cup slipped in his fingers. He caught it before it crashed to the floor, trying to ignore the burning splash of tea across his hand.

"Yes, upon a review of all the representatives' credentials, you have been elected. Congratulations."

Arthur nodded, stunned. He was flattered, in a distant way. More than anything, it added to his anxiety.

The major continued, "The real goal of the mission is far beyond any actual scientific gain. Every system wants credit for this discovery, of course, but even more so, every system wants this war over. Diplomacy, Dr. Kirkland, will be key. The most powerful of all the systems are sending their brightest. Work together, and we don't care if you find a single living cell. You're primary mission is to establish a working relationship with the others. Questions?"

"No, but a comment," Arthur said.

"Yes?"

"You do realize that seven of the nine people on the mission are scientists?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Have you ever tried to work with a scientist?" Arthur asked skeptically.

"Not in this kind of situation, no."

"Ah, well that explains it."

The man looked worriedly at Arthur. "Explains what?" he said.

Arthur chuckled, but didn't answer.

Arthur continued to laugh inwardly at the major's obvious discomfort as he went to ready himself and his shuttle for their departure to the planet. He walked through the comfortable corridors of the ship, saying a silent goodbye to them and his good tea, anxiety mounting again. The base that was set up on the planet was a Sanctuary model, third edition. On the voyage here, Arthur had done some research on them. The base was economical, and that was about all the praise that could be said of it. It had been put together by drones out of a box, and needed a competent engineer to make sure the entire structure didn't collapse. From above, it looked like a spiderweb along the planet's surface, domes that contained everything-sleeping quarters and studies to the bio-dome and small kitchen--were connected by long corridors empty of everything but pipes, lights and the metal grating that made up the walkways. There was no padding on the walls to keep in warmth or to block out the hum of the power generator. The beds were bunks, several to a room save the captain's quarters, and the infirmary was only minimally equipped.

He came to the end of a long corridor and was guided by a uniformed woman into his shuttle. Once he was ready for departure, the screen in front of him flashed, and Arthur listened with quiet respect as God Save the Queen played. Over his headset, the major from before spoke.

"Do your best, Dr. Kirkland," the man said. "For queen and system."

"For queen and system," Arthur repeated, then sat back as the launch sequence began. The shuttle disengaged and dropped towards the planet. The major tried to keep up an awkward conversation over the comm system, but only managed to get short, often monosyllabic answers out of Arthur.

What the major could not see was the faint sheen of sweat that grew on Arthur's forehead as he tried to remember how to land the shuttle. His linguistic skills might have gotten him the job, but therein was also a problem. Arthur knew full well that he implied that he had successfully flown and landed a shuttle before; however, the phrase, "experience in piloting shuttles," referred merely to a cheap simulator he'd tried three times at his university rather than any actual piloting. He'd only actually managed to land correctly once. The major certainly did not need to know of that now, and yes, the planet was getting closer at an alarming rate. Arthur choked on what he was sure would come out as a high-pitched, manic laugh. Oh, panicking was the worst possible thing he could do right now. Not only would it be the opposite of helpful, but if he did end up crashing and dying because of it, think of the embarrassment.

Arthur's mind raced as he tried to remember the landing procedure, eventually neglecting to answer the major at all. He tuned out the irritated voice over his comm, forcing it to fade into the background grinding of the shuttle's ancient engine. He pressed buttons, pulled levers, though they didn't seem to be in the same place he remembered from the simulations.

Pressing his damp palms to his eyes, Arthur drew several deep breaths, blocking out everything. Then he was back in the simulation, and the memory took over. Eyes still closed, he struggled to maintain the mental image as he fumbled across the controls.

He let out a deep sigh when the rocket slowed and began the landing sequence into the bay of the Sanctuary base.

"Sorry," he said into the comm. "Missed that last bit you said."

There was no reply, but Arthur figured nothing could be done about that.

* * *

The base was cold in both temperature and appearances. Arthur had never been off of his planet, England, in his life, and the cold drizzle that was the perpetual climate of his world was nothing in comparison to the dry, metallic chill that sent a shiver down his spine as he walked through the grated corridors to his quarters. All the surfaces were an industrial grey, except for the edges of the doors and windows, which were outlined in bright yellow in some kind of warning. The light didn't help warm the place any. The lights that ran along the corridors shone a harsh sodium yellow. In addition, some light flickered in from the long windows, a deep red that illuminated nothing, just turned the artificial light a muddy orange. The corridor was rectangular, and through the center was an elevated walkway made of metal grating. Underneath ran the bare pipes and wires, which gave a startling pop every so often. Whenever he reached one of the thick doors separating corridor from dome, a bored-sounding computer voice came over the nearest comm speaker and announced its opening.

Eventually, Arthur stopped by one of the windows, looking out into space. Arthur had never really pondered light before, but found he had to now. Light itself seemed inconstant, glowing, then simply gone. There was a sort of beauty to the strangeness-how starkly alien it all was. But that strange wonder cooled into discomfort as Arthur raised his eyes to the black hole.

The black hole wasn't so much _there_ , up in the sky, as it was more of just an absence of anything. But some light obviously had to be there, as there was still the flickery red glow about everything around it. Before he could think too long on it, he found that the absence in the sky was rapidly giving him a headache, so he turned away, followed by his hollow footsteps to his chambers.

His room was simple bordering on austere. Like the rest of the base, the walls were bare metal and pipes ran through the corners. To one side was a small, plain cot with a small night table and lamp. Opposite the bed were a desk and chair, also metal. Fastened to the wall just above the desk was a video screen, an automated diary system to send transmissions back. Two doors were in the back wall, one leading to a small closet and the other to a bathroom and shower. Arthur glanced at the small red number at the top of the video screen. He had a few hours before the others were to arrive. He flopped down on the cot, and found it to be rather comfortable, all things considered.

He rolled to his side, fidgeting with the blanket under his fingers as he tried to figure out how he would even begin to deal with his role as captain.

"Queen and system. Queen and system," he repeated, trying to gather some composure. "I have to do it for Queen and system."

* * *

Arthur met most of the crew at the appointed time. They awkwardly stood in the main dome, nothing but the sound of breathing or the faint echo of a shifting foot against the floor. There were eight of them there-the engineer from America was late. No one seemed to wish to speak.

Once he felt he could endure no more silence, Arthur stood and said, "Erm, hello. I am the representative from England, and my specialty is linguistics." He felt a bit like he was introducing himself to the primary school class. "I am also the acting captain. I will give orders and I expect them to be followed; I know many of you are not accustomed to such an arrangement, but I trust that you will in turn have faith that I was chosen for a reason."

It had all come out in a bit more a rush than he had intended. He earned the hostile glares of most of the others, but met them, with growing irritation. He had been elected, after all. Scowling, he indicated for a short man with loose black hair and an inscrutable expression to join in. Once he began, the rest chimed in reluctantly, but they only stated their area of expertise and their country, no names. Once Japan, Italy, Germany, Austria, Hungary, and France-as Arthur, now just England, had begun to think of them-had introduced themselves, the final man just glared. A petulance in England rose and he returned it with just as hard of a gaze.

"I refuse to take orders from a scrawny—" muttered the man—Russia.

"If you want this mission to succeed, you will," England retorted, voice growing in both volume and severity.

England stood in his green uniform before the oddly eclectic crew, most of whom were fuming. He realized he probably wasn't who they were expecting as captain: a skinny, bookish young man with crisply accented Common. But he glared in return, sure to indicate that he was as mistrustful of them as they were of him; that just because they were crammed into a small Sanctuary base didn't mean there wasn't a war going on outside. Russia, who had shouted earlier—huge and menacing as he glared down at the captain—stepped back, granting the captain a limited amount of room.

"Thank you," the England said, out of habit more than gratitude. "Now, we all know that this mission is important. Not only are the scientific implications staggering, but this is also the first inter-system project attempted for the last hundred years. I trust you are all intelligent enough to understand exactly what that means."

Offended scoffs echoed in the room.

"You're not even a scientist," said France, speaking up. He was tall and blond with an arrogant manner. His clothes seemed more fit for a fashion model than a scientist. "What good is an linguist?" he continued. "What will you do when we find this life we seek? Make puns at it?"

England gritted his teeth and ignored him, though his next words dripped in cynicism.

"Despite what our systems hope for," he said, "I believe it is overly optimistic to expect us to establish anything become a hopefully cooperative working agreement. Be that as it may, it is my job to make sure our scientific objective here is fulfilled: find and study the life that all our systems detected. My own specialty will prove useful if and when we come into the possession of any texts," he concluded sharply, glaring at France.

Not allowing for questions of dissent, he dismissed them and returned to his captain's quarters. He reveled in the quiet and looked at his good fortune with new appreciation. With the exception of Hungary, the only woman on the team, all the others had to bunk together, three or four to a room. He sank down at the desk in the corner and turned on the video log. He felt the irritation seep out of him, leaving only exhaustion in its place. He had no desire to make his report, but it was his only link home, even if he could only send transmissions, not receive them. He clicked the screen on and the little green light indicated that the camera was working.

"This is Arthur Kirkland, Captain of Project Doctor reporting." God, he could hear the weariness pouring out of himself. "The crew has settled in, with the exception of one Mr. Jones, who is running late," he said, then found some energy to roll his eyes. "Americans. Anyway, tensions are…high. And several weeks of nothing but dehydrated protein to go on have certainly impaired my own temperament. But the bio-dome is unpacked and that French biologist should be working on the growth acceleration. If he does his job right, we'll have fresh food in a few days.

"Tomorrow morning, all crews will set up work stations and we'll test out the spacesuits for the first time. All readings in the base are normal and I'll be off the dinner now. I do hope it's the blue protein this time" he added sarcastically. "Green is starting to taste funny."

He clicked off the video log and sent it off to the server on the rocket, where it would be sent back a satellite above the planet England.

Rising, he went to dinner. It was a tense affair. No one said much of anything, but when they did, they continued to address each other as the planet they came from. England though it was for the best. It would serve as a constant reminder of why they were here at all and what was at stake.

As he picked at his rehydrated protein (green again, dammit), he though about home, the rain, the floods, the famine. He knew well how vulnerable his planet was. He steeled himself to do everything that might prevent his disaster-ridden planet from attack. That included showing no weakness to any of the others.

From across the dining table, Hungary, their geologist and only woman, and Austria, their cultural anthropologist, had struck up a tentative conversation. Italy, the chef with nothing to cook, poked mournfully at the green blocks on his plate. He was the only other besides England on the crew who was not a scientist. Earlier that afternoon, England had tried to approach him and establish some sort of sense of solidarity with him, but he had quickly learned that very little that wasn't about food could penetrate Italy's head and had given up.

Pushing away his plate, England stood and addressed the crew.

"So, erm, tomorrow morning we will set up our stations," he said. Russia and France were glaring. England bristled, tone hardening again. "And you _will_ set up what machines and detectors you need after we test the spacesuits," he ordered, returned their haughtiness with his own, and left.

Back in his chambers, England let out a soft sigh and collapsed into bed. A small, unruly part of him worried that if he were the best option for captain, the rest of the crew was going to be a disaster.


	3. Chapter 3

Almost a week had passed and England, to his dismay, found himself with a problem. He was bored. While the rest of the crew had regular duties or equipment to set up, England had nothing. No texts or tablets to try and decipher. Nothing that required an extensive knowledge of syntax or analytical comparison.

He flopped over on his cot, feeling almost as useless as France or Russia constantly said he was. All he needed was a something to do, then he could shut them up. Now irritated on top of bored, he rose and went to his desk. There hadn't even been enough time for it to get messy, but England set about straightening it just for something to do. In manila folders were the records and resumes of all the crewmembers. He straightened them and placed them on the corner, then turned on his electric kettle. He organized his pens first by color then by length, setting them in a neat line along the back of his desk. His stapler and hole punch had to be perfectly perpendicular to the edge of the desk, and the magnifying lens he often used was set to the side.

Satisfied, he poured himself some water from the kettle. A clanging pop sounded from the heating pipes in the corner of the room, and England flinched, spilling the boiling water across his hand. He jerked and sent the folders flying across the floor. Exasperated, he shook his hand, set the kettle and cup back on his desk and collected the scattered files.

He organized them back into their proper folders, spending a few moments extra in France's to see if he could find anything he could use against him. The last folder was America's.

England glared at the photo paper clipped to the top. A week had passed and he still hadn't arrived. The base was already starting to suggest that it would collapse if America didn't get here fast enough. Austria had discovered, to his dismay, that his office was behind door fourteen, a particularly stubborn door that had decided to seal itself on the second day. The only place they could find for him was the broom cupboard by Hungary's office.

England was irritated by the delay, but also carefully optimistic about America's arrival. From his spotless record, and reputation for being soft spoken and hardworking, England hoped there would be someone with whom he could get along. It didn't hurt that he was possibly the best engineer on America, which they needed now, with the state of the base.

When he had finished putting the folder away, there was a knocking at his door. Frowning, England opened it. In his door way was someone who could only be America. He was dressed in brown slacks and a heavy, fleece-lined brown bomber jacket. His face was framed by small, rectangular glasses behind which large blue eyes which were sparkling. His hair was a messy—though not nearly as bad as England's own—blond fringe with a piece in the front that stood in stubborn defiance of gravity.

"America," he said, startled. "When did you get here?"

"I flew my shuttle down just a little while ago," America said, eyebrows rising. "I did send a transmission. Talked to that Japanese man." He barely kept down a grin. "I guess he didn't tell you, then."

England rubbed his temple. "Oh, Japan," he muttered, "He should have cleared that with me. Why didn't he even tell me? I've been waiting for you." America laughed and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, have you now?"

"Yes," England said, sighing. "Door fourteen. Go, see what's wrong and fix it."

"I haven't even introduced myself," America said.

"You're just America—we don't use names here. Now I believe I just gave you an order. Get to it."

Something like relief flashed across America's face, but he said nothing further on the subject.

"Captain," he said with a salute, then turned to find his way to door fourteen.

Dinner that night was far louder than normal, and America seemed to be at the center of it. He inhaled Italy's food, much to the chef's delight, and struck up conversations with everyone in his general vicinity, though admittedly, they were often rather one-sided. He filled the usual quiet with noise, talking about his flight over and whatever else popped into his brain.

When dinner was finished, he left, recalling the long list of problems England had ordered to get on with. Just a week without an engineer and the base was already breaking down. Much to England's surprise, Japan followed after him.

An odd thought struck him in the middle of washing dishes with Hungary. The man who had arrived seemed nothing like his description. Of course, he had yet to see his work ethic, but there was nothing reserved about the man who had waltzed onto the base that afternoon.

"He seems nice enough," Hungary said.

"He seems impossible," England said, shaking his head. "He was supposed to quiet, and mellow, and frankly rather boring. But rather, he's loud and so far he has completely failed at reading social cues. Dinner was an entirely uncomfortable affair. He's not what I expected."

Hungary gave him a knowing grin that baffled England. "And that's a bad thing?"

"I have yet to determine that."

She laughed and whipped his side with the damp towel. He raised an eyebrow at her childish behavior. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "You just remind me of a little boy with a crush."

England looked at her for a second, puzzled. "I have—? No!" he shouted. Hungary just laughed. England sputtered. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, once he regained his composure. "I have no opinion of him other than that he is the engineer we so very much need."

"Have it your way, Captain," she said and returned to drying. They stood in a companionable silence until America came in, followed by a distraught looking Germany.

"Hey, Captain," he said. "I've finished those repairs you wanted. What do you want me to do with the extra parts?" He held up a little box full of piping and bits of machinery.

"Extra parts?" England asked. Germany sputtered behind him.

"There are no extra parts. I read the manual! You took out the motor that powers the door!"

America lifted a metal box out of the pile. "Is that what this was supposed to be?" he asked Germany earnestly.

"Yes!"

"Oh. Well, I didn't need it," he said, dropping it back into the box.

England looked on America with suspicion. Was this the real America, or some saboteur in his place?

"America?" he asked. "Does door fourteen work?"

"Of course it does," America said, rolling his eyes. "I fixed it like you asked me to. Austria's moving into his actual office now"

England got out the comm from his belt. Sure enough Austria confirmed. Suspicions alleviated, he turned back to America.

"Well," he said, indicating the box. "I suppose you can do what you want with them."

"Yes!" America said, almost dropping the box as he punched the air. "Japan and I were thinking we'd make a robot."

England watched him as he turn and ran off, bemused. Germany cleared his throat. "Captain," he said, "As one myself, believe me when I say there is no way that man can be an engineer. I've never seen repair work like that. No method, do diagrams—he didn't even consult the manual!"

"Honestly, I don't care how he does it," England responded. "As long as he does it well, he is the ship's engineer."

* * *

 

It took several weeks to settle into some semblance of a routine. England, growing exhausted with being useless as a professional, tried at least to be a useful captain.

That turned out to be a bit like herding cats. Or herding five year olds.

"England," Germany said, coming up behind him. "Italy would appreciate it if you got America and France out of the kitchen."

England paused in what he was doing. "Why didn't he can't he ask me himself? He's got a mouth, doesn't he?"

Germany looked down, concealing what could have been a blush. "Um, yes. He does. But its you so he asked that I ask you."

Sighing, England followed along to the kitchen. Italy was almost in hysterics. France and America were fighting around him.

"All I want is a break from non-stop Italian food," France moaned. "Let me cook tonight or I will uproot all the tomatoes."

"Italy, clear out for a minute, will you?" America said over France. "The lighting in here's all flickery. I need to fix it."

Italy stood between them, looking frantically back and forth in panic. Taking pity on the completely overwhelmed man, England stepped in.

"France, get out," England said. France ignored him and continued pestering Italy.

"I said, get out," England repeated, grabbing him by the collar. "And don't touch the tomatoes, or I will make it my personal duty to assist Italy in every meal he prepares," he threatened.

"You wouldn't dare," France whispered, whipping around toward England.

"Oh, I'm so hurt," said England sweetly. "I do so love to cook."

"Bastard," said France, but left.

"Always. And America, just leave the lights for later. Let the poor man work. Plus, I want you in the main control room in ten minutes. We're sending out our first expedition."

* * *

 

England made his way into the main control dome where he met Austria, Hungary and Japan. America joined them a few minutes later and England began.

"The first mission in the itinerary is just a basic surface level check. Nothing difficult, nothing complicated," he explained, going to the three screens above the main control console and flicking them on. A topographic map appeared on one, while photos of the planet from space appeared on the others. "I want Hungary's analysis of the environment and Austria to keep an eye out for any potential signs of inhabitants. Remember, there's nothing to tell whether the life we detected is intelligent or not."

"What do you want me to do, Captain?" America asked. England rubbed his temples.

"You're on standby, as always. That way if something breaks I have someone to blame it on."

America's face fell almost imperceptibly, but was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Ha ha," he said, rolling his eyes. "You know you need me around if something goes wrong. I'm the best mechanic you could ask for."

"Engineer," England corrected automatically. America just shrugged.

Austria and Hungary made for the airlock, where they made the final adjustments to their spacesuits. From the video feed, they looked alien themselves—large and hulking and ghostly grey. When the airlock drained completely, the pair stepped out onto the planet's surface.


	4. Chapter 4

England studied the video feeds and the slowly filling in map as Hungary and Austria plodded along. America fidgeted beside him. The communication was limited and professional, if a little boring. It was just how England wanted their first mission to go. After they lost sight of the base, the landscape before them swept up into a ridge that lined the valley. America scooted closer, his attention captured. If his planet had been anything like England's this was probably just as strange to him.

Hungary and Austria slowly wound their way to ridgeline, switching back across the crosshatched stone. Only their slightly panting breaths coming over the audio feed.

"It looks as if they're climbing up a dragon's back," England said softly. America chuckled.

"I was thinking more like biscuits rising in the oven," he said.

"Of course you would think of food."

They reached the summit, and America gasped.

"My God, England. Look at that," he said.

England could hardly contain his own sharp intake of breath. The planet had been photographed countless times as they searched for the right places to land, finally selecting their valley. But those photos could have never prepared any of them for the sight that was laid out before them.

The red stone curved down from the crater wall, the scaly, crosshatched stone swept down in a wide wash. However, just a little in the distance pieces of earth had fallen away, and the surface looked like a huge, rocky spiderweb. Overhead the black hole loomed, and England could imagine it growling even in the silence of space.

"England," whispered Hungary. "Are you getting this?"

It took a moment for England to compose himself. He'd never seen anything like it. Dreamt of anything like it.

"Yes."

He pulled out the com. "France?"

"Yes, my Captain?" he responded, his voice still held an edge.

"Get the others. You need to see this."

"Can it wait?" France whined, "I promise I am not destroying any tomatoes."

"Come. Get Ivan and the others. That's an order," England said, though his voice was still soft.

With a huff, France clicked off. Only then did England notice America's odd silence. He looked over, sarcastic comment on his tongue, but with one look at America, it died. He sat rigid in his seat. England would have thought he was in pain, if not for the near reverent look in his eyes.

"Well, it's quite something, isn't it," England offered lamely.

America jerked to attention, but didn't regain any of his boisterous temperament.

"Yeah. It's amazing."

England looked at his engineer with worry. He was about to question him further when the dome door swung open and the tinny voice echoed, "opening door one."

The rest of the crew walked in, including Italy, who England assumed had been picked up by Germany on the way. They walked up to the monitors.

"Ve! It's so beautiful, isn't it Germany?"

Germany shuffled behind him and gave a grunt of agreement. England felt a small bubble of satisfaction as they all looked on with the same wonder he felt.

The rest of the crew was silent as they watched Hungary and Austria approach the beginning of the web.

They peered down, and England craned his neck along with them, as if it would get him a better view. Inside was shadowy with the strange, inconstant light. From directly above, it did indeed look like a web or perhaps a burrow. Arches and beams of rock seemed to cover some kind of cavern and in the torchlight, England could glimpse the wide space below.

"England," Austria said. "England, we have to go down."

England came back to himself with a start. "No," he said. "The mission is surface level only. You don't have the equipment, or anything else."

Austria bent lower to the ground, gloved hands skimming over the rocks around one of the edges. The otherwise smooth surface was chipped in regular places, though the solar winds had obviously weathered them down.

"See this, England?" Austria asked.

"Sure."

"Handholds. I can't tell if they're still in use, but these could easily be artificial."

Hungary crouched beside him and examined the rock.

"It's not natural," she confirmed. "The rock's mostly sandstone, and these chips aren't in the grain or any natural weak points."

"Is it possible something falling could have chipped out those?" England asked. It was best not to jump to conclusions.

"I'm not sure. How could we tell?" Hungary asked.

Japan stepped forward, startling England. He gestured for the comm.

"This is Japan," he said. "Can you send a scan of the wall? A could map potential trajectories."

Austria and Hungary got out the sonar scanner they had used for mapping to get an image of the wall. It appeared on a screen beside the video feed.

"It's not from something falling," Japan confirmed. The excitement in the room was palpable. He pointed to the line of the cliff face. "See here, the chips go straight down the wall. If something fell, it would bounce around and off the cliff edge. These are intentional, like a ladder or a stair."

England warred with himself. He felt the entire crew's eyes on him, waiting for the decision. On one hand, the mission itinerary clearly stated just a surface exploration. On the other, this is what they  _came_  here for.

"My decision stands," England announced reluctantly, and he had to hold up his hand to quell the disappointed outburst of the crew. "Think about it," he tried to reason. "We don't know what's down there, what the atmosphere is like, if there're radiation pools or something else potentially deadly."

"With all due respect, Captain, I decline," Austria said.

"What do you mean, decline," England demanded. "You can't decline an order. I'm the captain."

"And the captain is making the wrong decision," Hungary added. "We found a ladder! For God's sake, England! Of course we're going down."

"We'll collect the data from down there. Don't worry," Austria said.

"This is insubordination! I order you-"

"Shut up, England." A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to see Russia. "I want them to go down there. I fear you're a bit outnumbered on this." It was true. Everyone glared at him-with the exception of Italy, who just looked confused.

"Carry on," said Russia into the comm.

England watched helplessly as Austria and Hungary descended along the ladder. The crew around him picked up an easy conversation. England retreated, and was almost out of the room with the comm crackled and the video feed went out.

"Austria! Austria!" They heard Hungary yell, then shriek herself. With a final burst of static, the comm went dead.

England rushed back to the console. "Hungary! Austria! Report! We've lost video. I repeat, report!"

There was nothing but a hushed silence. England felt the crew staring at him, just as stunned as he was. He had said, not a minute ago, that this was a bad idea. He wanted to throw it back in their faces, scream at them for not listening. However, he also knew that it would do nothing for Austria or Hungary. He gripped the comm in a white-fingered grip in one hand and squeezed his eyes shut, demanding his mind to  _think_. The noise faded, his own panic reduced to a faint hum in his chest. Despite the calm he held, there was nothing. No brilliant, captain-ly ideas suddenly sprung to mind.

He was startled when America jumped to his feet, chair falling behind him as he made for the door.

"Ameri-"

"I'm going after them."

England balked. Behind him Russia snickered.

"You?" Russia said. "What good could you be? You're the engineer, if anyone should be going, it should be me."

"Fine," America shot back. "Come with me then. We can back each other up. Austria and Hungary—they need a hero!"

Russia shook his head. "No. For once, I agree with England. We should leave them, for now, until we can get a better plan of attack."

"Are you kidding?" America said. "We can't just leave them. We don't even know what could be happening to them. They could be dying." He didn't shout, but his voice had gone several pitches higher. He wasn't angry; actually, he looked on the verge of a panic attack.

Russia grasped his shoulder, "No, my friend, we should not send someone with lesser qualifications to be out there."

America shoved his hand off. "Better someone lesser than no one," he countered, then ran from the control room. He appeared a moment later in the airlock. Groaning in defeat, England began establishing a connection with another suit.

"You're just going to let him leave?" Russia asked England, sounding disgusted.

"I have a feeling he'd find a way out there without my help. So I figure I'd do my part in this rescue mission," England snapped. "America? Do you copy?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't—"

"Shut up," England ordered. "I'm prepping suit three for departure. Go to storage two while Japan and I make sure everything works, and get the climbing equipment."

"You're helping me?"

"Yes. I'm angry. You, Hungary and Austria will still have to face punishment for your insubordination. I, however, need you back alive if I'm to enforce that discipline," England said, bracing for a cheeky response from America. It never came.

"Thanks," was all he got.

America left the base, and made for the stone web as quickly as he could with the bulky gear. England watched through the screen, impatient. Feeling as if he were going to explode, started giving out orders.

"Japan, analyze the scan Austria sent you. I want to know the safest way for America to get down. Russia, make sure no radiation winds are spiking. I don't want them to be found just to die in a gamma hurricane. France, I don't know what it is you can do, but go do it. Germany, I need you at the control dome to see if you can fix the connection in the comms. I know it's not your specialty, but I need someone on it."

Stunningly, they all did what they were told. But England didn't have time to reflect on it. He and Japan started discussing their options.

"If he sets a pulley system with the line, he should be able to lift them out," Japan said as he looked at the scans of the wall."

Italy approached England. "What can I do?" he asked. England didn't take his eyes off the screens. "Can't I help?"

"No."

"Please," Italy insisted. "I could be useful. Some coffee or tea? A button you need pushing?"

"Not now, Italy," England said, holding up his hand. "Just go somewhere and don't talk."

Italy complied, choosing to stand and stare from the far side of the console while Japan and England and America talked in hushed voices.

England leaned against one of the screens and ran his fingers through his hair. Things were spiraling out of control. What if it was too late for Austria and Hungary? What would happen if this mission failed or if only some of them survive? It could destroy the tentative inter-system relationships the project was forging.

"No one said anything about casualties," England said.

Japan never looked up from the scans, but sighed in agreement. England watched enviously as he found some work to bury himself in. He wished for some work. Something, anything to take his mind of being the captain. But there was no tome or tablet or ancient language in sight. So he watched America's progress

Finally America approached the drop off where they'd lost contact with Austria and Hungary. Japan walked him through how to set the hard point and rappel down. Once set, he backed up and down the tunnel. England watched the video feed anxiously, awaiting any flicker or indication that it would fail again.

"Still getting all of this?" America asked.

"Crystal clear."

"I think I see some scuff marks on the walls. They shouldn't be too far away-" America yelped and the video feed died.

"What is it? America? America!" shouted England.

The sound of static was all he got.

[   
](https://www.fanfiction.net/login.php)   



	5. Chapter 5

The silence seemed to ring. England was frozen to the spot. Fragments of plans sprang to mind, half-formed then disappearing before he could cling to them. The air in the base felt unusually chilly, and England came to the vague realization that he was shaking. The others in the room looked at him fearfully, but all that ran through England brain was that he had let, even encouraged the stupid git to go. If they died, it would be his fault.

The comm crackled in his hand.

"England? Are you there?"

"America," England gasped. "What happened?"

"Not sure," America said. "When I kit the underside of the cliff, the rock just gave out from under me. I'm lucky I had this equipment. Then the comm died."

"The video feed is still down. Can you see anything?"

"Not really; it's dark. There might be a ledge or something down below. I'll go find out."

The comm crackled and went out again as America descended. England, slightly less nervous this time, began pacing until it came back online.

"—found them!" America said. "Oh, God. I see them."

The crew waited, listening to America's panting breath as he lowered himself down.

"Not…seems…enough…out?" The comm was breaking up again.

"Can't hear you, America." England said. He looked at the console hopelessly. He didn't even know where to begin fiddling to get a stronger signal. After another moment of garbled static, the comm lost contact again. England could do nothing but sit back and wait.

Russia approached England from behind, and broke his tense silence.

"England, about what I said earlier. It was foolish to send America, you know that."

England nodded, placing his arm over his eyes and leaning back in the chair.

"You got lucky this time" he continued. "What if something had taken them, then taken America? How could you send him out there?"

" I agree with you in principle," England said, picking his words carefully. "But even if I had forbidden America to go, do you think he would have stayed here, following orders like a good boy?"

Russia grumbled, "You could have forced him to stay."

"I do not wish to resort to physical force against my subordinates. We're supposed to be teammates."

"And you are supposed to be the leader."

"If I had ordered him to stay, America would have left anyway," England said, standing up from the chair and glaring at Russia. "He would have left without any equipment, and from what we can tell, he would have fallen just like the others. I must do what is best for my crew, even if it means a compromise."

"A leader should be obeyed. You would not have been."

England flushed. Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to rein in his temper. "You're dismissed, Russia. You may return to your post."

Russia didn't move.

"Just as you said, Russia: a leader should be obeyed."

"Fine," he growled, then added sarcastically, "Sir."

England glared after him until a crackling sounded behind him.

"England? We're out." America said.

"Out?" England asked, his anger at Russia dissipating. "All of you?"

"Yes, Captain." The boy sounded exhausted. "Hungary's got a dislocated shoulder but coming to. Austria's unconscious. We're about to head back, but it'll be slow going. "

England looked at Japan and France, who had been silent since Russia addressed him. They still had spacesuits in the airlock. He could spare one of them.

"France, go help him," England said, praying that France would put up no fuss.

France stared at England for a moment, his gaze calculating but much more open than England had seen before. Finally he nodded and left with a curt, "Captain."

Alone with Japan, England sank back down into his chair.

"Well, one positive thing has come out of this," England said.

"Captain?"

"For some reason, France seems to be willing to follow orders. I can't imagine why, because Russia was right. It was against every rule to send America out there."

"No, Russia was not wrong," Japan agreed, making for the door. "But neither were you."

England took a moment to stare at the console and consider Japan's words before he left for the airlock himself. He listened to his footfalls along the metal grating of the floor. The little, claustrophobic hallways and the echoing sounds of his footfalls just added to his nerves. Even in the great cities of England, everything was softened by the fog and gentle rain. As he passed by the small windows, he wished he could throw them open and feel the sea breeze. The longing struck him with such ferocity that he paused before shaking his head sadly and hurrying to meet America and the others. He reached the door to the airlock dome and entered, the automated voice sounding above him.

He only had to wait a few moments before the chamber on the far end of the room locked and filled with air. America and France entered, still in their ghostly white spacesuits supporting Austria and Hungary. England helped carry Austria to the infirmary escorted by the others.

The infirmary was the only room in the entire station where the metal walls were covered and painted a clean white. There were several cots, all with soft white sheets and equipped with diagnosis machines. Metal rod hovered near the end of the beds, ready to scan the occupants and deliver instructions for treatment.

Along the back walls were cupboards filled with splints and very basic medical supplies, everything necessary for the everyday injuries that could be expected from working in space. Behind it was a locked, metal cabinet where the stronger painkillers and other medicines were kept. It would only unlock when the scanner determined something from within was needed.

After being lifted into the beds, the scanning rods went to work at once on Austria and Hungary. Austria had the worst of it, a broken ankle, but with some painkillers and bone growth supplements, the computer estimated he would be able to go back to work in a few days.

Relieved that nothing worse had happened, England left them in France's care and returned with America to the airlock to drop off the spacesuits.

"America," England said, as they finished returning everything to its proper place. He meant it to sound angry, but it just came out tired. America flinched.

"England, I know what you're going to say. It might have been against the rules, but I couldn't leave them."

"Wouldn't," England corrected. "It was entirely in your power to stay behind. You  _should_  have stayed behind, and I should have ordered you to."

"I still would've gone," America said almost regretfully.

"Yes. I thought it foolish to give an order I knew would be disobeyed. But America, you need to understand-the crew needs to understand-that I am the captain. I give orders, and I need them to be followed. What happened today with Hungary and Austria was insubordination. We're lucky everyone is still in one piece." He was grateful to see America nod in agreement.

"If they hadn't gone ahead of your orders, none of this would have happened. But maybe everything happens for a reason."

England scoffed looking out the glass pane at the red planet, up where the black hole sucked in light and dust. "I wish, America, I really do," he said. "But the truth is I almost lost two crew members just because they disobeyed me. Then I sent you off against my better judgment. If this keeps up, the mission could easily be jeopardized."

He turned back and found to his annoyance America was smirking at him.

"Stop it. This is serious."

"Sure, sure. I know it is. But still, can you really blame them?" America asked. "I mean, they finally get a chance to do what's really exciting about the mission, then their grumpy captain tells them not to."

"I fail to see your point. What they—you—did was ridiculous."

"They finally get a chance to be useful. They just wanted to be useful, like you do," America said. "I know you've been feeling a little useless lately, Captain. Nothing to linguize and all." England bristled. "But I found something that might cheer you up a bit." He walked back over to the space suits and opened the bag that held the climbing gear. He returned, delicately carrying an enormous tome. England felt his mouth drop open, and excitement rise within him.

"You need to be wearing gloves to handle that," England snapped, snatching the book from his hands and setting it on a table. America laughed.

"This was right by where I found Austria and Hungary. There were other things down there, but I didn't have the chance to bring anything else back. I just threw this into the bag and hauled it up with everything else."

He was still angry, but now that his crew was safe, England figured he could indulge some of his curiosity. "Tell me about it, then," he ordered. America happily obliged.

"I've never seen anything like it. Even just the stone, some of it seems so familiar, but I've never seen formations like that. And down in the down in that hollow! Austria was right. There were people there. It looks like there might have been a building once, and there is so much stuff—I mean good, interesting stuff—everywhere. There were some pillars that had been carved, though most of it's worn away. I bet if we go farther down, we can see them better," America said excitedly.

England stared out the window to the surface. He would never be able to see it first hand. The captain needed to stay in charge, pushing buttons and making sure the crew didn't kill themselves. For the first time, he regretted his position just a little. Shaking his head, he pulled some gloves out of his pocket and began to leaf through the pages of the tome. They were thick and brittle. England handled them as he would the most precious treasure. The writing was beautiful, unlike any language he'd come across. It seemed to be character based, which would make things more difficult, but it wouldn't be beyond his skill. His delight grew as he encountered several diagrams, with the lovely writing surrounding it.

"Any of that make sense?" America asked.

"Oh, not yet. It's not like I have any references to work with."

"And that excites you?"

"Yes, America it does," England said. "I am quite possibly the first person ever to set sight on this language. Of course it's exciting."

"Right," said America skeptically. He rose and made for the door. England stood to follow.

"Oh, and America, you, Hungary, and Austria will report to me after dinner tonight and we shall discuss the consequences of your insubordination."

* * *

The next few weeks followed quietly, Austria and Hungary still had to recover, so France and Russia investigated the planet. As America had predicted, they brought back a treasure trove of artifacts, and to England's delight, there were several more books and tablets that had survived. The language was slow to reveal its secrets, but England was one of the best at what he did. He had promptly shut the entire crew up when Russia's snuck into his room with his own handheld translator and tried to understand the words in the tome. The device had overheated then blown a circuit with an impressive display of sparks. Rather smugly, England yelled at them for getting cinders on the text.

It was a windy night after dinner when England realized that, despite everything, his crew had developed an odd sense of closeness. They still called each other by the name of their planet, but it was only out of habit. England was surprised to find that he now thought of himself as England. Arthur Kirkland felt like a man from a distant memory.

England enjoyed his tea and listened to the conversation. The room was not all that comfortable, all metal and one glass window with the console in the middle, but it was spread with blankets and pillows all brought out of personal rooms.

America was telling an animated tale about how he had blackmailed his brother into calling him "The Hero," after rescuing him from a girl's dressing room.

Italy sat next to him giggling, Germany looked uncomfortable, but then again, he always seemed to. Hungary leaned up against Austria-the two had grown very close after surviving the tunnel.

Yes, it was nice indeed. Though France was edging close enough to England that it was cause for concern. Being groped was not very high on his to-do list tonight. He stood and stretched, and privately smiled at the foiled look of France's face as he sat down next to America.

The conversation died off slowly, until the only noise was the rattling of the solar winds across the valley.

England was just enjoying the silence when Italy began to speak again, babbling about something. Letting the noise slide through his head-odds were it wasn't important anyways- he slowly started to doze.

A small shake woke him. America started down at him.

"Good God, America. Don't do that."

"Oh, sorry," said America the rose and went to the window. He looked out, all his energy from before vanished with the rest of the crew. For such a tall man, he seemed to sag at the shoulders, unable to hide some great weight that rested upon him. England watched him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. He joined America at the window, staring out into the dark sky and up into the black hole.

"What do you think would happen if we fell in?" America asked.

"We would die," England answered logically.

"Some people say that black holes are the gateway to another universe."

"Well, before you even got that far, the fall would kill you, unfortunately. But don't worry. We're in a steady geostationary orbit, as fantastic as that is."

"How does a linguist know so much?"

"I didn't before I was chosen to represent England on the mission. But I do have a love of research. I couldn't resist."

They had lapsed into a companionable silence when America gasped, and England soon saw why. It looked like a comet. It was bright, bluish white, and glided slowly across the sky, leaving a blazing tail behind it. They watched as it sank and curled, consumed by the gaping hole in the sky.

"What was that?" England asked.

"The Centari binary system," America said. "The first extraterrestrial system we ever explored."

"And it's...?"

"Gone. I suppose you could say we're in the old neighborhood. Earth's not too far from here. Just a couple light-years."

"Is it headed in this direction?"

"No, not that I've heard of."

The gazed out as the last of the blue white tail fell away.

"It's gone. Just like that." England murmured.

America nodded. "I've been keeping an eye out. Russia said there was a chance it might come into contact with us. He'll be upset he missed it."

"Was there life there?" England asked. He shifted slightly closer to America, dazzled and a bit frightened by the end of an entire solar system.

"It was impossible to tell-there was so much radiation. Two big stars, so not very stable. We never got any good readings."

"So there might have been?"

America stood in silence. When he spoke again, his voice was off, a little broken.

"Yeah, I guess there might have been."

Without another word, he turned and left England to watch the death of the system. He wondered about the screams, the civilizations that could be dying-stretched to death as the fell in and in and in. Or possibly worse, the silence the unbearable silence of emptiness falling, never to have a chance at life again.

Shuddering, England wished for company. He didn't want to be alone with the dying. But America had gone, and his quarters were waiting for him, empty.


	6. Chapter 6

England should have known it was too good to last.

The lights first started to flicker when during dinner one night. The crew was quiet, they'd all had a busy day and the heating had been malfunctioning. America barely touched his food, and was still half covered in grease, which England had complained about.

"What did you do?" Russia snapped at America.

"It wasn't me," America insisted for the umpteenth time. "I wasn't even near the central dome. The heating system's in the bio dome."

"Well you should hurry to fix it," Russia said. "It is your job."

America glared. He was curled tightly into his thick bomber jacket, obviously cold and tired.

"Unfortunately, he's right, America," said England, trying to be as gentle as he could. "Heating is one thing, but if the power goes, we're trapped here."

That startled America. "I didn't even…" he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, God. I've got to get on that. Now."

He left, amid protests, leaving his food still on the table. After an awkward silence, the crew got back to their dinner. Italy babbled, and only Germany really listened. Slightly concerned for America, England gathered up his left-behind food and went to find him. As England expected, he was in the control dome, working under the main console.

England watched him awhile as he fiddled and clinked around, occasionally sighing and running his grease-stained hands all over his face. He sounded exhausted, his movements sometimes sluggish, but nevertheless, he plodded on.

"America?" England asked.

America scooted out from under the console. His shirt was completely covered in grease, but he didn't seem to notice. He pulled at his grey-splotched hair and said, "It doesn't make sense. There's nothing wrong."

"You're sure?" England asked.

"I mean, I'll double check, triple check, but everything seems to be working," he said, moving to crawl under the console again.

"America," England said, "It's alright, don't overdo it. I—I brought you the rest of your dinner, it's a little cold, but-"

"Not hungry."

That was a shock. "When are you ever not hungry?" England asked incredulously.

America shrugged. Something slightly painful tugged England's gut as he looked at America, the dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders proved the man had been working tirelessly all day. This was certainly not the same America who had landed on the ship a week late, strolling into his quarters with a blithe smile, nor was it the same man who had talked so animatedly about building a robot our of spare parts that weren't supposed to even be spare. Come to think of it, America hadn't been quite right since the accident with Hungary and Austria.

"America, is there something you're not telling me?" England asked.

"Of course not," he said, flashing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Like I said, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just wondering. It is my job to make sure my crew can work." England said, examining America closely, looking for any revealing evidence. His eyes were tired, much more so than just a hard days work. "Tell me, how have you been sleeping?"

"Oh." America's smile faltered slightly. "You know... fine."

"If anything is wrong, you do know you can tell me, don't you?" England asked, handing over America's food. America took it, but made no sign to eat it.

"'Course I know that, England," America said, but couldn't keep eye contact.

Sighing with resignation, England gave up. "Eat," he said. America started to argue, but England interrupted him. "That's an order."

America conceded defeat and began devouring his food. England walked away, at least reassured that his engineer wasn't going to drop dead from starvation.

He returned to the biodome and started the shift to night mode. With no actual sun, the base had a programmed system to replicate night. Old earth classics started playing over the comms as everyone in the crew closed down their stations and got ready for bed. The lights slowly dimmed to a red glow, England imagined them, as he stood in the kitchen, chatting idly with each other in their shared rooms, enjoying some sense of companionship. The thought made him a bit sad, though he couldn't fathom why. He wasn't much for being social. He enjoyed his solitude, and should have been grateful for his private quarters. Nevertheless, he couldn't find in himself the motivation to retire.

Once his eyes adjusted to the red night light, he prepared a cup of tea. He was taken slightl;y by surprise when America entered a few minutes later.

"You should be in bed," England said automatically.

"So should you," America said, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. He took a sip and winced then put it in the microwave. England raised an eyebrow.

"Coffee this late?" he asked.

"I like coffee."

England hummed in response. With a sigh, patted America on the shoulder and turned to leave.

"Goodnight then," he said. "Don't come complaining to me if you can't sleep."

America gave a small smile, partially masked by the strange light. "You just drank tea."

"Shush, you."

England tried to sleep that night, he really did. But his thoughts were too chaotic. And as America had said, the caffeine he'd just ingested didn't help. He was worried about the power, worried that they may be trapped here. Getting everyone down was difficult and costly, and he wasn't sure a rescue would even be practical. And what would he say to his crew? Sorry, you'll never go home again? This was supposed to be an expedition, not a colonization project.

Finally, he just gave up on sleeping and opened his log journal. The small television like structure's green light blinked on and started recording.

"Today is," he started, then hesitated. "Well, I'm not actually sure of the date. Time seems to lose meaning here. This is Captain England-No, Arthur. Captain Arthur Kirkland of the planet England in the Britannic System. Report number thirty three.

"We've been having some mechanical problems today. Our power seems to be going offline in places. Our engineer has been working on it but can find nothing wrong. If the power does indeed go, the backup generators will be able to maintain life support, and possibly the research stations at a reduced capacity, but there will be no way to power the rocket. I hope America figures it out soon.

"As told in my last report, my progress on the text which I've taken to calling the Diagram Book is slow but steady. I've identified a few more characters, but even better we seem to have found a few of the artifacts the book is describing. We still don't know exactly what they are or what they do, but it's a step forward-"

A small crash from outside his chambers startled England from his log.

"What the-? This is Captain England, signing off," he said and shut down the video log. He grabbed a torch and left to find the source of the noise.

Wandering the corridors at night was unnerving. They were lit by dim the reddish glow of the night lights and the ambient, eerie space light, and England's footsteps echoed loudly as he walked. He came eventually to the console room, where America was back at work on the power.

"America," he said.

America jerked up, slamming his head against the bottom of the console.

"England," he said, rubbing his head.

"America, what are you doing?"

"Trying to fix the power."

"It's the middle of the night."

"Yeah. Its still not working."

"Is it getting worse?" England asked, coming to squat beside America, gently tapping his forehead. America winced, but it didn't seem too bad.

"Well," America said, pushing England's hand away, "no, it's not getting worse. But it's still bad."

"How bad is bad?"

"The rocket can't fly," America said. He gave a panicked look at England.

"But life support? The biodome?"

"They should be alright at these levels."

England, shaking his head, took America by the wrist and lead him out of the control room. The walked along the hallways until the reached the kitchens. England put the kettle onto boil. He motioned for America to sit. He collapsed at the table.

"I feel so useless," he whispered. England just scoffed and got down two mugs. Frowning at the coffee residue in the bottom of them, he rinsed them in the sink. When the tea was ready, he sat down across from America and handed him a cup.

"That's ridiculous," England said finally, pouring a bit of milk into his tea. "The power aside, this base would have collapsed weeks ago if you hadn't been here. You've been anything but useless."

America stared at his tea but did not touch it. He gave it a halfhearted swirl.

"But if the power stays like this..." he began.

"We'll be trapped. Yes, we all know that. Now drink your tea."

"Is that how you deal with a crisis? Drink tea?"

England glared. "Of course," he said, "I'm British. When in doubt, tea."

That got a laugh out of America, and England allowed himself to relax a bit. America tried to drink the tea, but grimaced. In the end, he stirred so much sugar into it that it probably lost all semblance of tea-like flavour. After he had drained his mug, America stood and walked over to the door and flipped the lever by the door controls. With a grating sound, metal panels of the kitchen roof opened up in a grand skylight and revealed the impossible majesty of the black hole above. Light and time and matter all lost forever inside it.

"And if we are stuck here?" America asked.

"Then we're stuck here."

"And all of you won't be able to go home because of me. You'll die because of me."

England took another sip of his tea and looked America in the eye. His face, faintly illuminated framed his tired, haunted blue eyes. England wanted nothing more that to wipe away that pain from those young eyes.

"We can live for a good while yet," England said.

"It'll be my fault." America stared at the table. His hands shook, and he lifted then and tugged at his hair. England, without really knowing what he was doing, reached across the small table and took one of America's cold hands in his own.

"Stop it," he ordered. America jerked up. "First of all, it's not your fault. Sometimes things just go wrong. It happens. Second," he said, squeezing America's hand, "I can think of worse fates than being stuck here."

America looked at England. Really looked. Then with a small laugh, he extracted his hand from England's.

"Don't you want to go home?" he asked.

"Sure," said England. "I will always love my planet."

"Tell me about it?"

Even during their after-dinner conversations, none of them had really discussed home. It was always personal stories. Families, friends, mad adventure from their youths. It was easier to be friends when you thought about the person rather than the enemy system they came from. England thought for a moment, then cleared his throat and began.

"Well, England was one of the first terraformed planets. And the terraformers were even worse than they are now. England's mostly just water and scattered islands. But still, on those islands we have amazing cities," England said, voice going a bit nostalgic. "Some of them stretch over two or three-built on floats and magnetic supports. And it rains there, all the time."

"Is that good or bad?" America asked, sitting back down.

"It's not really either. It's how it is, but I like it. I like the rain. It's familiar. The cities are full of people, all sorts," he said, then paused. "Or, used too be. They're more and more empty now."

America raised an eyebrow.

"Like I said," England explained, vaguely aware that this was revealing his planet's weakness. To his own surprise, he didn't feel bothered by it. "my planet was terraformed. And not all that well. The climate's gone crazy these past couple of decades. And it's getting worse, last year, an entire island collapsed. Millions of people died."

"I'm sorry," America said. "America wasn't that stable either. Droughts mostly."

"Terraforming problems?" England asked. America shrugged.

"I'm not sure if anyone could say what the exact cause was," he said, evasively. "But we'd always been unstable enough that we just learned to adapt-" he cut himself off, flushing as if he had let something secret slip. England looked at him suspiciously.

"America has climate problems?"

"Who doesn't these days," America simply stated. England chose to concede the point.

They stood in silence, America fiddled with his empty cup idly. After a while, he asked, "Did you mean it? I mean, when you said you would be alright even if we were trapped here?"

England caught America's eyes and held them. "Yes," he said firmly. "This is... pleasant. I think that maybe, yes, I could live here. With you, with the others."

The relief on America's face was clear. He smiled a bit at England, who hid his own smile behind his teacup. "Now, America, I really think you should get some sleep," he ordered. "You and Germany will be working on the power tomorrow, because as not-horrible as being stuck here is, I would like to go home someday—perhaps show it to everyone. It can be a beautiful place. Once you get past the rain."

Not meeting England's eyes, America took England's hands a squeezed, with a brief "thanks" before returning to his quarters.

England was left, rubbing absently at his now warm hand as he left too. No, he figured. Life here wouldn't be bad at all.

The next day started as usual. The lights flicked on all over the station as the station automatically switched into day mode. The crew gathered in the dining area, enjoying Italy's cooking. They chatted a bit before leaving for the day to go about their chores.

England returned to his quarters and got out the first tome America had brought back and one of his many notebooks. He flipped open to the passage he was translating, and began to work.

About an hour later, he tossed the notebook aside. He was getting nowhere fast. He flipped open to one of the few pages with a diagram. The one he found looked vaguely familiar, and he figured he might check with Austria to see if they had picked anything like it. He felt like a walk anyways, so he stood, stretching and made for Austria's workplace.

Even though he had moved out of a closet and into his own office, England was fairly sure the difference in space was negligible, but Sanctuary bases weren't exactly known for their luxury. Crammed inside was a desk against one wall and the other was lined with shelves containing artifacts. On the bench next to Austria himself sat an old, obviously well-love violin and bow. He played occasionally after dinner for the crew, and England had had to sort out more than one argument between Austria and Russia about when appropriate times to play were.

He knocked on the open door, and Austria met him with a friendly but distant glance.

"England," he said.

"Austria. I came to see the artifacts. One in particular."

"Of course, Captain," he said.

England had to duck a bit under the shelves. He admired what they had found. Tools, it looked like. Metal, not stone or clay. It was an advanced civilization they had found traces of. But where could they be?

Near the back of the closest was the artifact England had thought he had seen. It was large and egg-like, with a shining metal casing. There were characters written around its center, something England wished he could read. While he couldn't yet, he picked it up and examined it. It was heavier than he expected, but felt oddly warm in his hands. He carried it over to Austria, handling it carefully.

"Would you mind if I took a look at this?" England asked.

Austria looked over, glancing at the egg. He nodded.

"I haven't been able to find any significance to it," he said.

Back in his room, England set the egg on his desk next to the tome. He found the diagram, and set about looking at the characters. He recognized a few, but not much to really make sense of the artifact's purpose.

The characters above the artifact, what England determined to be the title of the diagram were the characters for "stone" and "spring." Upon examination, the characters engraved onto the artifact were the same. England looked on hopelessly. Stone-spring? What could that even mean? He looked at the characters again. Perhaps it was simply a device to hold water, a container that functioned as a spring for an underground civilization? But that just seemed stupid.

England's frustration was interrupted by a call over the comm.

"England?"

"America. How is the power?" England asked.

"Looking good. Do you want to come down?"

England didn't really need to go, but he was frustrated again. Setting aside the artifact and the tome, he left to find America.

He and Germany were in the main control dome, both covered in grease but looking satisfied.

"Well?" England said.

"All up and running," said Germany.

"And guess who fixed it?" America said, puffing out his chest.

"Germany of course," said England, smirking when America deflated melodramatically.

"I'll admit he did most of the work," Germany said, almost grudgingly as America triumphantly flipped a lever and the lights noticeably brightened. "I've never seen someone so good with machines. Of course, I had to point out the problem to him. Blind fool."

If America noticed the insult, he showed no sign of it. He seemed to skip around the main console. England mustered up his best glare, though he was relieved to see America back to normal.

Italy was in the kitchen when the lights began to flicker. At first he didn't mind. It only happened once in a while, and his tortellini required all of his attention.

The light by the skylight was the first to burst. The bulb cracked and flared before leaving a dark spot in the kitchen. The lights flickered again. Nervous, Italy made his way to the comm by the door.

"Germany? America?" he said into it. "I-I think something is wrong with the lights in here."

No answer came while Italy stood in the darkening kitchen as other bulbs flared then dimmed behind him. "Sorry, Italy. Can it hold a minute?" England's voice crackled. After several more minutes of silence, Italy moved to the door. He tried to open it, but the handle wouldn't budge. He pressed the control device, asking, begging it to open, but the even the cold, automated voice was silent.

Cold panic started to wash over him. Italy slammed himself into the door, throwing all his weight against the handle. Still it did not budge.

Running back to the comm, Italy didn't even try to hide his panic.

"Germany! Germany! Help me!" Italy yelled. "Germany, the door won't open. Germany!"

England rubbed his ears as the squeal came across the comm. Germany ran towards the door. England and America followed more slowly.

"He probably tried pulling the door instead of pushing," England said, rolling his eyes. However, when they did arrive at the door leading to the kitchen, they found Germany pounding on it. America and England broke into a run. When they reached the door, England pulled his personal comm device off his belt and spoke into it.

"Italy? Italy? We're outside. Can you hear me?"

There was a small silence, then a whimper.

"Yes," Italy said, his voice shaking. "I can hear you. I want to talk to Germany."

"Italy," England, insisted, "I need you to calm down. Can you tell me-"

"No. I want Germany. Is he there?"

Germany took the comm from England.

"Italy. I'm right here."

Italy, gave a shaky sigh.

"Good. I know you won't give up, Germany. I know you'll find me."

"Yes, Italy, you know I will. Just hold on. I'll find you."

America took out a screwdriver from his tool belt and set to work on the doors. Germany joined him on the other side with his own in the hand that didn't hold the comm.

"It's like hide and seek, isn't it, Germany?"

"Stop it, Italy-" Germany begged.

There was a sharp gasp.

"Italy?"

"I'm still here. The lights. They just went out," he said, his voice going strangely calm. Germany dropped the comm. England tentatively picked it up.

"Italy," he said, his own voice even. "It's just the dark. There's no reason to be frightened of the dark."

"Germany?" Italy asked. "Do you remember what I told you last night. That I was happy here. That I was glad I came, even if I am just the chef. I'm so happy I found y-"

Italy's voice cut off.

"Italy?" England asked, glancing nervously at Germany. "Italy, please respond. That's an order. Italy, respond."

When there came nothing but silence, England dropped the comm as if it had burned him. He staggered backwards, unable to meet the heavy gaze of America and Germany. He braced himself against the wall where he began to shake. The tremble started deep in his core, an icy cold he couldn't get rid of.

Germany began to move, as if in a dream. He picked up the tools he had dropped and began to work on the door. The bolts were tight, and England stared at Germany's strained face before coming to himself. What were the facts? Get centered in the facts. Italy had lost contact, but the comm seemed fine. Italy was not trying to communicate with them in any other way, like shouting or pounding on the door. That left two options, either he was unconscious, or he was gone.

There was no sound from the room behind the door, nothing that sounded like a struggle. Unconscious was looking unlikely. Horror washed over him in waves. He approached the control panel on the side of the door.

"Computer," he said. "Scan for human life."

"Scan results in eight human life forms aboard the base."

England pressed his head up against the cold metal. "Germany," he said, unable to look at him. "Stop. He... He's gone."

Germany stared at him. His eyes were glassy, and he did not put down the screwdriver.

"He's just on the other side of the door," he said.

"I'm sorry," whispered England.

Germany shook his head. "No, he needs me to find him. There's just a door in the way, that's all."

He turned back to door.

"Listen to me, Germany. What ever is in there, we can't let it out. Italy wouldn't want that."

Turning his head towards the ground, England tried to halt his trembling and didn't see the fist come flying until it smashed into his cheekbone and sent him sprawling into America.

America caught him, but Germany was still coming at them. His eyes were dazed and distant, but he approached silently. Germany raised his fist again, but America caught it, shifting in front of England.

"Stop it, Germany."

"But he said-He can't really be-No," Germany sputtered.

"I'm sorry," England said again. America nodded in agreement.

Slowly, Germany sank to the floor. He slid himself across the cold grating until his back was to the loathsome door. He was pale, hardly breathing, as if he were the one who was dead.

England picked up the discarded comm.

"Corridor seventeen," he said, choking slightly, then cleared his voice. "I need everyone down corridor seventeen. If any of you are near the infirmary, get some blankets."

Apparently something in his tone made everyone obey without question for once. In a few minutes there came the clinking of feet down the corridor. Hungary had brought blankets.

"Shock," England said in explanation, placing one of them around Germany.

"What happened?" ventured France.

England opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. He squeezed his eyes shut against the now too bright fluorescent lights in the corridor before clearing his throat.

"We lost Italy." It came out hoarse.

He then explained, in slow, halting detail, exactly what had happened. The others looked on in horror.

"He kept asking for Germany," America added, after the fact. "He would only talk to him."

Japan was the first to move. He walked over to Germany and whispered something in his ear. He picked him up from the floor and draped Germany's long arm over his back before leading him away from the door.

"England?" Hungary said. "I'll get some water in the kettle. Some tea will help with the shock."

She left and the others followed leaving America and England back at the door. England couldn't think, couldn't feel, he just stared at his trembling hands. He jumped when something soft and warm was hung across his shoulders.

"For the shock," America explained. England clung to the blanket. He wanted to shut everything out. The noise, the lights, just let himself drift.

"I... I always thought he was in the way. I can't count how many I just wanted him to shut up."

"I think we all did," America confessed. "Well, maybe except Germany. It's not your fault."

"If I hadn't dismissed him right off, maybe-"

"Stop," America ordered, then took England by the shoulder to follow the others.


	7. Chapter 7

There was no dinner that night. Everyone clutched a cup of tea, per England's orders, but no one drank any—including the captain. He tried not to think, tried not to feel, but every cross word he'd ever said to Italy refused to leave him alone.

He shook his head; he had to pull it together. The crew needed him to be strong now. If England couldn't function, how could he expect the rest of them to? And he needed all of them working at their best. There was something here, on this planet, that had just taken the life of one of their crewmates. England finally took a sip of his tea, now lukewarm, but its familiar flavour gave him a sense of calm.

There were several options he could take. He could give into grief, let the group mourn. It seemed like the humane option.

But the more England mentally explored that option, the worse it appeared. They simply could not stagnate. Not with something deadly about.

He could also ignore the loss. He could captain as it did before. The same captaining style that had landed Italy dead. Despite what America had said, England still felt the guilt sharp in his chest. Ignoring their loss would destroy him. That option was out.

Sighing and slumping against the counter, England sought a solution. He wanted-needed-to do something. It snapped in his brain, like a light being flicked. That was exactly it: he would do something. He would find whatever had threatened his crew and make it pay. There's was a mission for answers, something solid, so they would find the life. It could drive him. England stood against the counter and drained his tea, resolve steeled. He turned to the silent crew sitting around the table, Italy's usual seat conspicuously empty.

"Tomorrow we resume or work," he announced. The crew looked at him with confused hurt. He continued, "I can assure you, it will not be business as usual. There is something here, and we must find it. I implore you, focus your energy on your tasks. The more information we have, the better. I will send Austria and Hungary out on an expedition. I need you in the caverns again."

"England," Hungary said, her eyes hollow and scared. "We've seen them."

"I know," England snapped and the crew flinched. "You've seen many things, but this time don't see, this time observe."

He earned blank stares for the statement. England ran his hands through his hair and groaned.

"It's simple enough distinction," he snapped. "Seeing is an action that one does regardless of intent. It is a basic act of existing, and does not intrinsically imply understanding. I want you to observe, a much more willful action. I want you to search, to find, to understand what happened down there." He was shouting now. "I want to know why we've found so many relics of this civilization but not the actual civilization. There is life on this planet, we all know that. I mean to find it."

The crew started at him in stunned silence, but the guilt-fueled energy in England kept raging. "Russia, Germany, the two of you will investigate the kitchen where they took Italy." The lights flickered above them and hummed. "And America will fix the bloody power," England concluded, slamming his teacup down on the counter. It shattered, slashing across his palm and fingertips.

Not bothering with his hand, he grabbed the bin from beneath the counter and swept the broken porcelain into it. He stormed out of the room, followed by the stares of his crew.

"England?" France called after him. "Where exactly are you going?"

"I have a tome to translate. I plan to make myself useful." It was a testament to the gravity of the day that France did not retaliate with a harsh jibe.

England closed himself in his quarters and set about deciphering the newest text Austria had brought in with a near manic fury. His hot frustration burned through the haze that often settled upon him as he worked, and the symbols were rapidly revealing themselves to him.

The base was long into night mode when there was a gentle tapping on England's door.

"It's unlocked," he said, not exactly an invitation, but close enough to sound like one.

America entered. He held a cup of in one hand and a box of tea bags in the other.

"So you're still going at it?" he asked, bringing his supplies over.

"Yes. Why aren't you in bed?" England asked.

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I could maybe be useful?"

England hummed appreciatively. "Kettle's over there, thanks."

America shuffled behind him. When the water was ready, he poured a cup and brought it over.

"Perfect. I need this," England said, looking through the tea bags. He paused, then looked up at America suspiciously.

"Is there any particular reason not of these are caffinated?" he asked.

America laughed sheepishly. "Do you really think I could give you caffeine right now? You need some sleep; it's almost day shift."

"Bugger that," England said. "I have work to do, and you are depriving me."

"Would you give me caffeine if we switched places?"

"Of course not."

"Then I fail to see your point," America concluded.

"I'm the captain, you're not."

"That doesn't mean anything, and you know it."

"Fine," England grumbled. "I'll get my own damn tea." He said, standing. He didn't realize exactly how exhausted he felt when he'd been so consumed by his work. Trying to shake the sleep out of his head, he walked out towards the kitchen, where his best tea was. America followed behind him. When he arrived, the door stood imposing, and England froze.

The kitchen. They couldn't go in. Not now, maybe never.

"England?" America said.

"I forgot-how could I forget?" England asked, horrified.

"I told you, you're exhausted. Now, please, come back. Don't do this to yourself."

England let himself be led back to his room. They entered, and the plain metal walls seemed so cold. America had a room full of people to go back too, but England was isolated in his private quarters. America took him over to the bed, where he stood awkwardly waiting for England to move. England only snapped out of his daze when America bent down and began untying his shoes.

"I can undress myself," he said, perhaps more harshly than he intended.

"Fine," America said. "Just, please go to sleep." He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

England could not sleep. Every pop in the exposed pipes, every hiss of moving steam through the vents in the corner was a voice that whispered to him, warning that if he stopped, they all would. He went to his desk and opened one of the lower drawers. Inside was his reserve of tea. Certainly not the best he had brought, but it would give him the energy he needed to get through the night.

Sure enough, day shift found England still awake, translating and deciphering. When the lights went on, he took a quick shower then made his way to the central dome. The others looked as poorly rested as he did, especially Germany, whose pale, haunted countenance reminded England of a ghost.

Hungary and France had brought their own kettles, as the ones in the kitchen were inaccessible, and the crew started the day on instant coffee and weak tea. They left soon after to the tasks England had appointed them yesterday: Austria and Hungary made their way to the airlock while England was joined by Japan in the main dome's console. France returned to the biodome and Germany and Russia went to investigate the door. America was in the control dome already working on the power.

The day passed by slowly, and soon England became bored and restless watching Austria and Hungary's slow progression to the site. As he set up a temporary workplace in the dome, he dismissed Japan, who ran off to do whatever it was physicists did when there was nothing to do.

As Austria and Hungary lowered themselves into the cavern, the audio and video went out at the usual place. England always felt anxious about that, but they were both experienced in the landscape by now and they were well equipped. After trying to reassure himself, he settled down to work on one of the tomes he brought with him. It was the first text he had worked on, and England had determined it was some kind of agricultural manual. Everything in it was oriented on growing, harvesting. There was no reference to the black hole, but there was a calendar-like table with reference to a sun, so it must have been written before the collapse of the star. Occasionally, the text made reference to the artifact England had looked at before, the "stone-spring," and still it baffled him.

Several productive hours had passed before he was interrupted.

"England?" Russia said over the comm.

"What is it?"

"You should see this."

"Alright, I'm on my way," England said, then clicked off.

He stood, stretched then made for the kitchen. Just the sight of the door made England feel faintly nauseous. Russia and Germany stood to either side of it, looking at it apprehensively.

"Well?" England said.

Russia shot a pitying look at Germany, who still seemed out of sorts, and addressed England.

"It's strange. We've spent most of the morning trying to get the door open, and it hasn't budged."

He stood, and led England over to where a small grey machine stuck out from the wall.

"These doors can deadlock, obviously, but that should be easy to override with a command from the main power control," he continued.

"And did you ask America to try to get the power here back online?" England asked. He was out of his depth with this mechanical mess, but Russia really didn't need to know that.

"Yes," said Germany, seeming to come back to himself a little. "We did, but America claimed that the power wasn't out here."

"How is that possible?" England asked. "Italy claimed the lights went out on him. And the doors wouldn't open, doesn't that suggest a power loss?"

"It does," Germany said.

"Then America was wrong?"

"That's what we thought too," Russia said. "So we decided to check for ourselves. All the wires in the base are easy to access, so hooking up a voltmeter was easy."

"And?"

"The boy was right," Russia said, running his hand through his pale hair. "By all means, there should be power in the room."

"What does that mean, then?" England asked. Germany paled.

"It means that something is stopping the door. From the inside," he explained.

England felt his heart begin to pound. He shifted from foot to foot. "And that something is what"—he chose his words carefully—"took Italy."

Germany opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Russia answered instead, his voice businesslike and unemotional. "That is the conclusion we have come to, yes," he said, and then sighed. "I'm afraid there's more."

"What more could there possible be?" England asked, immediately regretting those words.

"The door isn't jammed anymore."

England stared at the two of them blankly.

"What?"

"It happened just before we contacted you. We were trying to wrench it open when the handle just started moving again," Russia said. "Germany insisted on contacting you before we investigated further."

England considered the door. There was something about it that felt horribly wrong. "Leave it for now," England ordered. "We can't know what for sure is going on in there, but we'll seal off the kitchen and this corridor. If everything still looks benign tomorrow, we can look further."

Russia looked grumpy, but seemed to note the logic of the decision. Germany remained expressionless. They left the corridor, sealing it behind them, then made there way to the airlock, where Austria and Hungary should have returned to by now.

Nothing went horribly wrong that day, and England chose to count that as a small victory, though everyone moved as if they were about to shatter. Austria and Hungary returned without a scrape between them, though Austria's ankle was sore and swelling. Hungary lead him off to the infirmary, supporting him and rubbing small circles in his back, promising to fill England in on their exploration over dinner.

That gave England pause. Their chef was gone and they had no kitchen. It had not even occurred to him, as he had not eaten since the day before. They did still have food, he figured, as the biodome was flourishing and the storage rooms were still in fairly good stock of flour, rice and, if the most dire situation arose, dehydrated protein (in green, blue, and red varieties). But they needed a way to cook things. He sighed, frustrated. Though as he walked off to see if France had any ideas, he figured this crisis was at least something he could deal with.

The entire crew found the biodome relaxing and England was no exception. It was the only organic area in the entire base, and filled with on one end with what seemed to be a tiny jungle, which served as an oxygen generator. On the other side of the dome was an extensive garden where France grew and tended the fresh produce that went into their meals. He was there now, at a desk he had set up near the perimeter.

"I need your help," England said, approaching.

France glided to his feet, and looked at England appraisingly. "What do you need?" he asked. "I have an exceptionally wide range of talents that no one here seems to want to make use of. Not only am I magnificent at my profession, but I am also a fabulous cook, and an even better lover."

England drove down his frustration. While he was glad the scorn France had shown him upon arrival had vanished, these sorts of interactions were tiresome.

"I'm actually here about one of your unused talents—cooking," England hastily explained after France had raised an eyebrow at him. "We have nowhere to cook, and most of us haven't eaten since yesterday, so I need your help figuring out something."

France considered the problem a moment, then snapped his fingers. "I have a plan," he said.

"Good. What is it?"

"I must go see Hungary and Austria."

"Wait, why?" England asked as France ran past him and to the door.

"You'll see. In the meantime, stay here and touch nothing."

"What'll happen if I do?" England retorted irritably.

"Then you might accidentally render the food inedible."

"Where do you get that?"

France shook his head and gave England a long-suffering smile. "You're English," he said simply, and raced away.

England sat down against France's desk grumbling to himself. It wasn't like France had ever seen him cook, so what did he even know? England shifted his shoulders, trying to find a comfortable position as he noticed the earth under him was actually quite soft. His eyes stung, and his body finally seemed to realize that it had been awake for almost a day and a half. With a gentle sigh, he let himself doze off.

He woke to the delicious smell of cooking food. He cracked open his eyes and saw that in a makeshift kitchen was set up in the middle of the garden—so far made up of hotplates and burners from France and Hungary's workplaces. Everyone but England himself was hard at work, and they held up a decent conversation.

England got to his feet, and America was the first to notice him. He put down the pieces of metal he was working with and waved at him.

"You finally got some sleep," he said. "Good timing too, we were prepared to sedate you to keep you away from the cooking."

"Why does everyone assume I'm a terrible cook?" England asked exasperated. "Have I cooked anything for you at all? Who's to say I'm bad?"

He earned some incredulous looks from most of the crew. Hungary was the first to speak up again. "So how are your cooking skills, then?" she asked.

"Terrible," England said without missing a beat. "You should never me allowed near anything that can possibly be burned, and also many things that can't possibly be burned."

Several people chuckled at that, and England moved over and talked with America and Japan, who were rigging up a flat sheet of metal and some spare parts into some sort of griddle.

When everything was finished, they sat down on the garden floor and enjoyed the potluck meal. It was all from the produce France had grown, but it seemed everyone but England had brought with them spices and seasonings from home. France had grown a section of the garden specifically with herbs that reminded him of his planet's cuisine.

They were all ravenous, with one exception. Germany barely touched his food. Everyone made some slight attempt to comfort him, but after nothing seemed to work, they were forced to give up.

Eventually the topic of conversation turned to work.

"Hungary," England said. "You were planning on telling me something earlier."

"Oh, right," she said. "Well, we haven't done anything with it yet, but Austria and I thought of something different we could do." She glanced at England and he nodded for her to keep going. "We realized that we haven't dated anything down there. It might tell us something if we figured out when the civilization existed in relation to the black hole."

"You know, like carbon dating," Austria added.

"Right idea, but that in particular wouldn't work," Hungary said, giving Austria an affectionate flick on the head when he looked at her confused. "Oh, my dear anthropologist," she continued, "what you'll be looking at has been around far longer than a C-14 test can tell you. I'm thinking a uranium-lead test."

"That's a good idea," England said, leaving the science babble to those who understood it. "After all, who knows, they might still be here."

"You know that is very unlikely," Austria cautioned.

"But not impossible."

The crew was quiet until the base started to switch into night shift. They bade each other goodnight and left for their rooms.

Darkness swam in the corners on England's eyes, and he felt dizzy despite his nap that evening. After entering a brief update onto the video log, he collapsed onto his bed, struggling to get comfortable.

In spite of his weariness, his sleep that night was restless and troubled. He was proud of how well the crew seemed to be dealing with grief—England's strategy of working towards answers seemed to be working—but something still seemed wrong. The door to the kitchen swam beneath his eyelids even as he tried to think of anything else. It was futile, though. If all seemed benign the next day, Russia and Germany would investigate and hopefully be able to retrieve Italy's body so they could put him properly to rest.

He sighed with relief when the base slowly started to change to day shift.


	8. Chapter 8

They took breakfast in the biodome where they had made dinner together last night, then departed for their tasks for the day. After giving reluctant permission for Germany and Russia to open the door the kitchen, England accompanied Hungary and Austria to Hungary's lab where she had several artifacts, several rocks and a core sample from deep in the cavern. She offered the two men a chair, then swung herself down at her desk.

"I thought up of this last night in the cavern," she said. "The rocks from within the cavern are mostly silicon-based, and so from the zircons that are bound to be in them we can determine the age of the cavern itself. The artifacts are harder, because they are made from mostly metal, but since they were just found around in the cavern, the chance that they are older than the rock is so slight it's negligible."

So far England followed the theory, though just barely. Next to him, Austria seemed to follow better, but not by much. Hungary them pulled out two rock samples, one labeled "cavern" the other labeled "surface."

"These two," she said, "are of generally the same composition, but since the rock formation suggests that the cavern is actually water carved, it was almost certainly formed before the black hole and therefore not directly exposed to its radiation. Comparing the two should give me an estimate of how much of the rocks' radioactivity is natural, and how much is from exposure to the environment created by the black hole. Combined with the sensors outside, I should be able to come up with a rate of irradiation and then make an estimate on how long ago the star collapsed. Of course, the calculation will be underestimated because there was an atmosphere here once, which would have blocked some radiation. I have no way of knowing how quickly that vanished."

England was completely lost by now, but he trusted Hungary, and made himself as useful as she could as she went about testing. It took several hours to collect the data and then for Hungary to analyze it. But the results were worth waiting for.

"My God," Hungary whispered when she had all her facts laid out before her.

"What is it?" England asked eagerly.

"Is it old?" Austria added.

"Old?" she said, her eyes wide with wonder as she explained, "It's ancient. Even the relatively young rock from the surface is almost ten billion years old. The stone from the deep core sample is even older."

England frowned. He failed to see what was so special about something being that old. "And the civilization?" he asked.

Hungary glared at him. "Shut up a minute, England. I'm busy being wonderstruck that something this old still exists. It's over twice as old as Earth, with at least one major sentient civilization." She paused then laughed coldly as something occurred to her. "Look at us: we fled Earth because of something as trivial as radiation spikes. These people—this planet—they watched their star die, become a monstrous, gaping hole in the sky, and lived on."

"Wait," Austria said pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. England also leaned in closer, giving Hungary his full attention. "Lived on? How can you tell?"

"These," she said impatiently, indicating the row of artifacts Austria had been working with. "They're irradiated. Not nearly to the degree of the outside rock, but they give off a significantly higher Geiger count than the cavern stones do."

"So can you tell how long ago were they used?" England pressed. Hungary shook her head.

"No, I'm sorry. There are too many variables. I don't know how often these exposed to the surface, or for how long." She sighed, frustrated, then stiffened, glancing at Austria who did the same as he seemed to realize something simply from her eyes. "England," she said a good deal softer, "all the evidence says that these people were long gone before we got here."

"So it seems," England said. "If they were here, we should have seen some sign of them by now."

"No, you miss the point, England," Austria broke in. Hungary nodded in agreement. "As Hungary said. These people were extraordinary. But they're gone."

England shook his head. He didn't understand the significance.

"There is something here, England," Hungary said, her voice very quiet as she tried to figure out how to best phrase her cold realization. "What we picked up on the scans—the life we came here for—it destroyed a people who survived the death of their star."

England had been frightened many times in his life, from silly things like job applications or public speaking to the deep dread when an entire island fell into the ocean, drowning millions of people. But nothing he had ever felt before compared to the icy, prickling terror that slowly ran up his spine as he finally understood Hungary.

"We need to leave," England finally managed to say. "Pack up your necessities. We leave everything we can spare behind."

"And the mission?" Hungary asked.

"I'm declaring our presence here unsafe. The mission is over."

Both Austria and Hungary seemed disappointed, but they both understood what they faced. With quiet ascent, they became to pack up Hungary's lab space. England was about to pull out his comm when it buzzed on his belt.

"England?" It was Germany. His voice hadn't lost its strange distant quality. As he picked up the comm, England felt something cold pool in his gut.

"Oh, Germany. I need you and Russia in the main dome, as fast as you can."

"England, Russia's gone."

Behind him, Austria and Hungary froze.

England swore under his breath. He was worried that had been the reason for Germany's communication.

"Germany, go to the main control room. You'll explain to the crew there."

Clicking the comm again, England contacted the rest of the crew and ordered them to report to the main dome immediately. He made his way there himself, Austria and Hungary following a few steps behind. When he arrived at the dome, everyone was gathered. Before Germany had a chance to begin, England drew America away in the corner.

"I need something from you," England said. His voice was even and controlled. He could feel the churning turmoil of panic inside him, but it was safely locked away.

"Sure," America said without hesitation. "What?"

"Whatever happens here; whatever is said, promise me you'll keep your head."

America was taken aback by the request. "Why?"

"Because I'll need you," England said, then reached out and gently squeezed America's hand. "God knows I'll need you."

England didn't look up, but if he had, he would have seen a peculiar softness in America's eyes along with his confusion. England took a deep breath and let go of America then turned to the rest of the group, eyes landing on Germany.

"We've lost Russia," he said bluntly, holding up his hands to quell the gasps and murmurs. "Now Germany, please tell us what happened."

Germany never lost his curious, glassy gaze as he recounted what had happened.

"As we, had discussed yesterday," he said, briefly acknowledging England, "Russia and I went to investigate the kitchen again today. Russia examined everything: fluctuations in temperature and power over the last twenty-four hours, the video feed we set up yesterday, even checked the radiation levels just in case. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

"We went in together, and he said we should agree to stay together at all times, as a precaution. So we walked into the hallway first. It was how we left it yesterday. The door to the kitchen opened smoothly, but we stood back to make sure nothing came at us. When we looked inside it was dark.

Germany paused before continuing calmly. The crew stared at him with fright, except for America, who looked more confused than anything. "It shouldn't have been, I double, triple checked the power…" America said.

"Exactly," Germany continued. "The only reason the lights go off is if there's no power. Even nightshift has the red light. But I saw it myself: power is running everywhere in the base at its normal levels. Russia had a light, so we tried to look in—see if we could find…" Germany seemed for choke on his own tongue. A moment later, he resumed. "But we saw nothing. There was no body. No bones. There were possible stains on the floor though. But Russia decided to not investigate. He thought we should seal off the kitchen for good. We closed the door behind us, but I pointed out that we could deadlock the door leading to the hallway. It wouldn't be too hard, and deadlocking is a specialty of mine. Nothing would be able to get in through a deadlock.

"Russia helped me with the door. It wasn't hard, but it required two people on either side of the door. I was instructing Russia on what to do when the door shut between us. At first I thought he had just pulled the wrong wire, and I told him what to look for. I didn't hear anything for a moment, and the door didn't open. The last thing that happened was Russia spoke over the comm again. He asked me if I had turned out the lights. I told him no, but he didn't respond. I heard something through the door, but I didn't know what it was, so I waited for him to speak again, but he never did," he finished.

"So you don't actually know if he's gone?" England asked after a pained silence.

"He's gone," Germany said.

England knew it was true, but formalities demanded that he confirm. "Computer," he said, turning to the console, "Scan for human life aboard the base."

The console hummed, then its thin, computer voice said, "Scan results in seven human life forms."

Silence rang in the room until England mustered his will.

"We're getting out," he said. "The mission is over. Our stay here is over. But listen to me. We aren't over. Do you understand me?" he asked, meeting every single person in the eye. "We get out of here. No one else dies."

"Yes, Captain," America said, and England was almost overwhelmed with gratitude for his steady voice.

Hungary seemed to find her courage then too. She stood up and looked her crewmates steadily in the eyes. "You heard the captain," she said in a voice that rang through the dome. "Go gather everything you need, leave anything extraneous behind. Let's get out of here."

There was a flurry of motion as the group sprang to their feet. Voices echoed sharp and businesslike as they left the dome and returned in groups to their quarters. England was leaving when America joined him at his side. England raised an eyebrow in question.

"I don't think any of us should travel alone right now," America explained. "Plus, the control dome is on the way. I'll stop by and make sure that there's enough power to launch the rocket."

England nodded. "Thank you," he said, meaning more than for just the company.

"No one lost their head, so you shouldn't have to be worried."

"I'm the captain. It's my job to worry. But what you did. It was," he fished around for the right way to express himself, "good."

America snorted. "'Good'? Come on, aren't you supposed to be a linguist? You should be able to do better."

"True, I should," England said as they arrived at his quarters. They packed up the necessities—his clothes and the first tome from the planet America had brought him. Everything else he could part with.

The left as quickly as they came, and stopped in the control dome. America opened up the comm link so they could all communicate freely. England delegated tasks once everyone had gathered their personal effects. France and Japan worked in the biodome, gathering food as quickly as they could to take on the journey; Austria and Hungary were transporting water and their stored food into the rocket's hatch; America was soon joined by Germany as they made the technical inspections on the rocket from the control dome. No one went anywhere alone.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

The first indication to the contrary came from Germany. He was more lucid that he had been since they lost Italy. He called America over and pointed out something on the control readout. The two huddled together and whispered. They busied themselves with a new, frantic energy, and England couldn't help but notice.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing really bad, just strange," America answered. "The power to the kitchen and the hall outside it is completely dead."

"It doesn't matter," Germany said. "We'll still manage."

England returned his attention to the other groups as Germany disappeared to the other side of the console. Several minutes later America spoke to Germany and England. "We need to hurry," he said.

"We're going as fast as we can," England said.

"Then we need to go faster."

"America?" England asked. Germany popped his head out from around the console to look at the mechanic.

"It's spreading. The power's gone out in the hallway past the original. I think it's headed toward the nearest dome."

Germany made a horrible, sound as if he were choking on his own tongue. "It could halt the launch," he said.

"What?" England said.

"The base's power is disperse, every dome has a console and the generator in the console provides a portion of the total power to the base," America explained. "That way even if we lose a part of the base, the base will still be able to run, because it's not a centralized power source."

"But?" England prompted. America retained his steady voice, though his hands were twitching.

"But the rocket takes an insane amount of power to launch. It's like when we were losing power before, the rocket won't be able to lift off without the base at full power. Launching takes all the power from all the generators and circuits it into the rocket. With any broken, lift off becomes too dangerous."

"So what do we do?" England asked.

"We move. Fast. We're not grounded yet."

England gave out an order over the comm, and the base was filled with the clatter of feet on metal.

The crew sprinted down the corridors, all with a final load in bags over their backs. The dome that housed the rocket was on the perimeter of the web that made up the base. America and Germany burst into the room and began the launch sequence. The rest of the crew ran across the catwalk that connected the rocket to the base. They entered, dumped they baggage by the door and each took a seat, leaving the pilot's seat empty. America and Germany rushed in a few moments later, taking the empty seats. They continued the launch sequence, flipping switches as the hum of the engines slowly built to a roar.

"Rocket disengaged; all clear," said America.

"Engines are go," Germany said. "Launch in fifteen, fourteen…"

The rocket began to tremble. England actually dared to think they might make it-

The engines died, leaving a horrible, deadly silence. They sputtered, before picking up again, with a dimmer, sickly rumbling.

"Abort. Abort!" America shouted.

Germany grabbed a large lever and pulled. Once again the engines went silent. Without a word, America went to display in the center of the room. He typed away for a moment before pulling up the base's power review. He gave a long sigh that sounded far to loud in the silent rocket.

"It got us," he whispered, voice cracking. "We can't get out."


	9. Chapter 9

England's mind was far away. He was on his own planet, in his own flat, listening to the soft rain and looking out into the dark streets. He leaned out of the open window, staring at the yellow sodium lights and the shadows they cast. The air was heavy with the smell of rain and exhaust and the bakery down the way. His back faced the familiar wall, with its ugly wallpaper hidden behind shelves and shelves of books. It was wonderfully spacious for an apartment, but he supposed that came with being the best linguist on the planet.

It was a lovely night to do nothing at all.

But something kept intruding. Something small out of the corner of his eye kept snagging his attention, then hisses and footsteps that had no place in his flat. A sense of wrongness, that the world wasn't right, wasn't real.

So it didn't startle him too much when he emerged from the foggy fantasy and found himself in the main dome, surrounded by scared, silent people. It felt like this was the dream, a bad dream that he wanted to wake up from, but reality was not soft and damp like home. Reality was full of clicks of machinery and cold, metal edges poking out at odd angles.

How could he tell them that they would all die? He was sure they already knew, but he couldn't even fathom taking responsibility of those words. Language was his domain, his kingdom, and he knew it better than almost anyone in the galaxy. Yet one simple indicative sentence, one statement of fact lay outside his ownership.

"Germany, America. Come with me," he said finally. The crew looked at him in confusion.

"England," Hungary said, "please stop. Nothing we do matters anymore." Her voice trembled and Austria wound his arm around her shoulder and held her close to him.

England looked off into space, out at the strange nothing that was the black hole. It had to be him, he realized. No one else could handle those damning words, so they would be his.

"You're wrong, Hungary," he said softly. "Nothing we do now will make a different outcome. We will die here." There, those words were his now. No one else would have to bear them. "But that hardly means that what we do now doesn't matter. We have a choice here: we do nothing because it's hopeless, or we do something despite hopelessness. Now, I request your assistance, Germany, America."

The two men followed him, walking through the long corridors until they reached the entrance to the dome where the power had been cut.

"Can you seal it?" England asked.

Germany rubbed the side of his cheeky tiredly. "Yes, but I don't think it'll do us any good."

"Seal it. It can't hurt."

England stepped back and watched as Germany took the lead on deadlocking the door. It was supposedly the perfect seal, nothing could get in or out, but England figured it would probably only slow down whatever hunted them at best.

When they finished, they turned and left as quickly as they could. England's comm crackled, and France informed him that the crew had relocated to the biodome.

Upon arriving, France, with the help of the others had prepared a small meal. There wasn't much: raw fruits and vegetables with some rehydrated protein. England ate, though he wasn't sure why. Everything tasted like ash in his mouth and he would be dead soon anyways. Nevertheless, some deep, automatic part of him refused to cease living. It was easier not to fight it.

After everything had been put down, France surprised England, drawing him away from the rest of the group. France was pale, and his forehead was dotted with droplets of sweat. His eyes were bright, but with a glassy, fevered light. England stood expectantly as France paced, searching for words.

"Germany," he said, abruptly spinning to face England. "I don't think we can trust him."

England frowned. "His nerves have been shaken, certainly. He and Italy were quite close. But I don't think that means that we can't trust him. He's been getting better—"

England yelped as France caught his arms and squeezed. "No," he said, staring at England panicked and desperate. "It's him. He's been killing us."

"France," England hissed. "How dare—As if things weren't bad enough! Some unknown thing is trying to kill us. The last thing we need is to suspect each other."

"I can prove it."

"No, you can't."

"Look at it, England, he's been strange since the incident with Italy."

"Of course he has," England said, glancing over at Germany. "He's grieving."

"Grief?" whispered France, "Or Guilt? Think about it, England. Who was the only one present at both deaths? Germany. How did we hear about Russia's death? Germany. Who was monitoring the power? Germany. He's a tactical engineer. Are you going to tell me he's incapable of it?"

"No," said England. "But I was there with him when we lost Italy. He couldn't have done anything."

"But he was working on the power when you received Italy's call, was he not?"

"Well, yes, but that's not relevant. He wouldn't kill Italy. Didn't you see him after?"

"He's a good actor, I'll give him that," said France, peering at the crew. "We have to get rid of him."

England sucked in a deep breath, then returned France's grip. "No. No. Never," he said. "Germany is a part of our crew. I can't believe that he's doing this."

"Can't or won't?" France said darkly.

England felt as if he had been dropped into the ocean. He floundered, eventually trying a new tactic. "Just stop it, France," he said. "This isn't who we are. I won't stoop to suspecting my crew."

France glared at him with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

"England, you can't be serious. You will watch us die?"

"I've made my decision," England said, turning back towards the group. "This is the end of this conversation."

"You'll be the death of us, then," France spat.

Rejoining the group, England helped wash up the remaining dishes. He looked down at the plate and towel in his hands and found that they were shaking. He tried to stop it, but the tremor continued. He set the plate and towel down, and glanced around, hoping no one had noticed. His eyes met Germany's, and for a moment, he could have sworn he'd seen something like triumph in them. He blinked, but when he looked again, he saw nothing of the sort.

England moved to the edge of the circle and sat, listening distantly to the conversation with only half an ear. Eventually, the crew got up to depart to their quarters for the night. England came back to himself with a small start.

"America?" he asked. "Would you stay here a moment?"

"Sure," America said.

"You're taking this very well," England said.

America was startled. "What?"

"We've just been given a death sentence. You're very calm about the whole thing."

America ignored the comment. "England, what's wrong? You're shaking."

"No, I'm not."

America knelt in front of England and took one of his hands. He extended it, then let go. England snatched it back before the tremble was obvious. He glared at America, only to be met with something soft and sad and astoundingly tired in those blue eyes.

"England, I saw you earlier—after the rocket failure. You were composed and in control. You and your crew just learned that you were stranded here and you held it together, so what happened?"

Something burned at the back of England's eyes. He could feel the turbulence spreading, seeping out into his extremities.

"France," he whispered. "He thinks Germany is the one killing us."

America scoffed. "That's stupid," he said.

"That's the problem. Of course it is—Germany isn't, he couldn't."

"Then what's the problem?"

"He's right. France is right. It makes sense. It could be Germany. Think about it, America, he had opportunity; he has the technical skill required. It fits." England's voice started to break. "Oh God, America. My own crew is suspect."

America shifted so he was sitting beside England. He looked flustered for a moment before he slid an arm around England and pulled him closer. Sighing, England rested his temple against America's shoulder.

"Shh. You know it wasn't Germany."

"No, I don't. I should—I should probe every possibility, regardless of what I believe," he said. He tried to calm himself, taking slow, shuddering breaths. "This is the worst. This doubt. I don't know what I'm doing."

Sighing, America began to rub small, absent circles into England's shoulders. "You're going to have to have faith, then," he said. "Maybe France has a point, and maybe it's logical. But this is Germany. He wouldn't do this. Not to us, or Russia, and certainly not to Italy."

"I haven't had faith in years. Not since I saw a city fall into the ocean."

"Well, someone obviously has faith in you."

Looking up, England raised an eyebrow at America.

"You are the captain, remember," said America with a small chuckle. "They probably chose you for a reason. Now I have no idea what that reason could possibly be, but there must have been something."

A strange, hiccupy laugh escaped England. He shoved at America. "Shove off," he said. "At least I know my profession. You have this strange belief that you are not actually an engineer, but a lowly mechanic."

Immediately, England saw that he had said something wrong. America tensed and let his arm drop, leaving England's shoulders cold. He stood abruptly, then with a loud laugh and overly bright smile, said, "Ha, right England. Well, I should get off to my quarters. You know, busy day tomorrow and everything."

"Wait," England said, jumping to his feet. "America."

America froze, back still towards England.

"Yeah?"

"You are an engineer, aren't you?"

"You said so."

England slowly approached America. Reaching out, he turned him around. America looked everywhere but England.

"That's not an answer," England said. America refused to respond, so England continued with his slow realization. "You're not. You actually are a mechanic, aren't you?"

"Yes," America said, meeting England's gaze. "I'll be going now. See you, England."

Catching hold of America's wrist, England pulled him back. England warred with himself, glaring at the floor. America was a fraud, of sorts. He certainly had faked his profile. But on the other hand, he had never lied about it. So America was a mechanic rather than an engineer. For the first time in his adult life, England decided to drop the semantics. Mechanic, engineer, it didn't matter. He was America, and he though he had arrived late and had been loud and lively and totally unlike the man described in the profile, he had stopped the ship from falling apart around them. He made up his mind.

"Stay," whispered England. "Stay with me."

"England, I'm not who you think I am. I'm not the person you were expecting."

"No," England sighed. "You were the person we needed."

America tensed, and for a moment England was worried he would bolt.

"You don't need me," America said uncertainly.

"America," England said, stepping closer. "We're going to die here. I don't think I can take that alone tonight."

"And you want me?"

"Yes. Who else? France? If you recall, he just accused his own crewmate of murder. You're taking this whole inevitable dying thing quite well. I'm hoping it'll rub off on me."

Giving a brief shudder, America turned slightly, opening himself so England could lean into him. "No, don't say that. You really don't want me rubbing off on you," he said, but then sighed. "But I'll stay."

England's room was much less empty that night.


	10. Chapter 10

The crackle and buzz of the comm startled England from his dozing. He rubbed the back on his neck where a crick had formed. He supposed that was what happened when one drifted off lying against someone else's upright ribcage. America still sat against the pillows, showing no signs of having closed his eyes despite the late hour.

"What in the blazes?" he said, stumbling out of bed. He grabbed his comm of his desk. "Hello?"

The comm let out a burst of static before subsiding into France's ecstatic voice.

"Ha, England," he shouted, triumphant. "I succeeded. I saved us-where the captain was too scared to move-let it be known that I saved the mission in the end!"

America shot a confused look at England who shook his head. France kept rambling on, getting progressively louder.

"Wait," England interrupted. "Slow down. What happened? What did you do?"

France laughed. "I got rid of our little problem. We're safe!"

"How?" England asked, incredulous.

"Went to the source."

"Source? What?"

"Don't be dense England. Remember our little chat earlier?"

A chill swept down England from the top of his head down to his toes. France was impulsive and scared, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't dare.

"France, what did you do to Germany?" England asked slowly.

"Airlock. Elegant, wouldn't you agree? We don't have to worry about the mess now."

Suddenly England wasn't standing anymore. His back was cold, pressed against the side of his desk, and all the air seemed to have vanished from the room.

"It wasn't hard, really," France continued. "Seems despite his plot to kill us all, he still couldn't resist the lure of an airlocks malfunction. It was easy enough to lure him in. Then just a flip of a lever, and poof, problem gone, and our lives saved."

"France," England said, his words choked and broken. "You just killed a man."

"It was no less than he deserved," France said scornfully. "His planet probably put him up to it, sabotage the mission and give them an excuse to increase their presence in the war."

The comm was jerked out of England's hand. America stood, light reflecting harshly off his glasses. "France," he said, voice colder than England had ever heard it, "just shut up. It wasn't Germany. What kind of person would make friends only to slaughter them?"

"If his planet told him to, then he would," France insisted. "He was a government official. It makes sense."

"No!" snapped America. "So say he had orders. Say his assignment was to bring us down. That wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't do it. Not to us. Certainly not to Italy."

"Are you really that naive?" France said with contempt.

"He wouldn't do it because sometimes the planet is wrong," America said, starting to pace. "Sometimes the planet is wrong, and then people recognize it. It makes you desperate, but people aren't the planet. People take action."

England had the distinct feeling that America wasn't talking about Germany anymore, but he didn't have time to dwell. Standing, he felt the tremble in his muscles dissipate and took the comm from America, who fell back onto England's bed. He turned it off and spoke, more to himself than America.

"We need to contain him somehow. If he gets it in his head that someone else is dangerous, they could go the same way. Out the airlock." He rubbed his eyes with the heal of his hands. "My God, who does that?" he asked angrily.

America didn't respond, but continued to lie boneless on England's bed, staring into space. Sensing that he wasn't going to be much help, England tried to devise a way to contain France. They still needed him to run the biodome, so they couldn't just sedate him indefinitely, as appealing as that option sounded. No, he'd probably have to be contained in the biodome somehow. Finding that way to contain him was the struggle.

"America? Do you think you and Japan could figure out a way to keep France contained in the biodome without hurting him too much?"

"Hmm? Well, probably. You know how all the doors have sensors on them that talk and stuff when they open? In theory I could override them and stop them from opening for France's biosignature."

"Good. Get to it,"

"Well, there's a bit of a problem," America added.

"Of course there is," England sighed. "What?"

"The override will be password protected. Only the security officer-that is to say, Germany-knew it."

"Can you do anything, such as, I don't know, hack in or something?"

America whistled, then nodded. "Yeah, it might take some time, but I think Japan and I could get in."

"Good, go get him."

Japan had not bothered to try to sleep that night. Though he could not contact them directly, he spent the time composing a farewell to his family. The video log glowed dimly in the room he shared with Italy, Germany, and America. It was dark and empty now. Italy was dead, Germany hadn't returned yet from something France had asked him about, and America had stayed with England.

In his heart, Japan was relieved that the room was empty. This was personal, private. Recording the message was turned out to be harder than he expected. His own voice, steady sometimes to the point of a monotone, didn't seem to be working quite correctly. It would catch in odd places, and Japan was worried that some of his emotions were flashing across his face.

"And to my eldest brother, I wish him to keep my paintings and drawings, in hope that he studies them more carefully. You've copied my style for years, Brother, and now maybe you will have some slightly less terrifying results," Japan said, a very small smile appearing on his face.

He took a deep breath before facing the camera again. "I believe that is everything except my final request. Please, keep each other safe. Know that it was for this cause that I died, so you may honor me in this way." Japan's voice caught, but he continued on. "So, then. Farewell, my family."

He clicked off the camera and set the message to send at the next possible time. The comm near the door crackled to life as Japan approached his cot.

"Japan?" America said. "We need to hack into the door security."

"Why don't you ask Germany for the password?"

The comm was silent for a moment. "He's dead." America said finally.

It didn't hurt as much as it should have, Japan noticed. Though new, the pain of the new loss felt dull, as if he had already been mourning his friend. In a sense he had—a part of Germany had died with Italy in the kitchen. Japan felt his heart fall. He clenched his fists and turned his mind back to the conversation.

"How?" he asked.

"France," America said. "France threw him out of the airlock."

"Oh. So France needs to be contained now?"

"Exactly."

"I will meet you in the control center, then."

"See you then. Thanks Japan."

As America clicked off, Japan went to his desk to gather his laptop and other equipment he might need. Computers weren't his specialty, but he was good enough with them that he and America working together should be able to crack the protection.

The red lights of night mode flickered. Japan startled, glancing around the room. He hurried to the door, the hairs starting to rise on the back of his neck. He reached out a hand to open the door. He made to turn it, but it was stuck fast. Panic raced through him like lightning, leaving his fingers tingling. He threw himself against the door. The lights shuddered. Nothing happened.

Slowly, he backed away from the door until he bumped up against a desk. Turning around, he shuffled though it, before coming across Germany's handgun. He set it on the desk then turned on the video log in front of him. The lights dimmed just as Japan set the video to send a feed all through the base.

The lights went out with a little pop. Japan waited for his vision to adjust, but everything remained black as bottom of the sea. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the blood rushing through his ears. He waited, pressed up against the desk with the hand gun gripped tightly in both hands.

The shadows were unlike anything he could ever recall seeing before. They seemed to move and swarm like some dark ocean. He thought he was making out shapes in them, but he couldn't tell if was actually seeing anything at all. Something cold and wet brushed against his cheek, leaving thick burning stripe across it. Crying out, Japan jumped and fired off a round. In the brief flash from the powder, he saw something tall and writhing in the middle of the room. The air changed around him, and he was splattered with whatever it was.

The mass in front of him was gone, but he felt something around his feet. He choked on a shout as thick ropes of wet, burning shadows slithered up his legs. He fired the gun again, and the shadows seemed to recoil from the spark of the powder. Japan struggled, firing at random until he heard the fatal click that meant he was out of rounds. The ropes covered him, wrapping around his hands and suddenly Japan found he didn't have a gun anymore. Or hands.

He started to scream, but was choked off when whatever it was as it dove down his throat. It was over in seconds, once it was inside him.

The video log made a small ping when the message reached its time limit, and it was sent throughout the base.

The biodome was still, the reddish light casting shadows all across the walls. The skylight was open, the black hole bearing down from above. England leaned against the wall, staring up at it as a figure approached. It cleared its throat, but England didn't seem to hear.

"You asked me to meet you here," said France.

"Yes."

France shifted from foot to foot. England seemed to be making no further elaborations. "I suppose this is about Germany?" he said.

"Yes. You murdered your own crewmate," England said, his eyes finally dropping to France's. "I have to take action."

"I would hardly call it murder, Captain," France said. England studied him. Something seemed off, the way he moved, the hysterical note in his voice. This man was mad and dangerous. "…He was going to kill us all. I was merely—"

"You threw him out of an airlock," England said, voice rising. "I think that counts as murder on any planet."

"I did what I had to!" France shouted.

"No. No! France, you acted out of panic. You had no proof. You murdered him because of a suspicion! Don't try to make it anything else!"

"What are you going to do to me then?"

"Keep you here," England said, gesturing to the biodome.

"As if you could, I can take you."

England glared and pulled out the comm from his belt.

"America?" he asked. "Have you and Japan worked something out?"

"Japan hasn't shown. I haven't gotten in yet."

"Fine, just hurry—"

Blinding white pain shot through England's head as he crumpled to the dirt-covered floor. France stood above him, fists raised. Turning, he started to leave.

England shook his head to clear his head. Still on the ground, he, lunged forward and caught France around the ankles, sending him sprawling.

"Get off of me!" France shouted, kicking at England.

England wrapped one arm around France's legs and grabbed his comm with his free hand.

"America. You need to do something. Fast."

With a grunt, France threw England off. He turned and threw himself at England. They collided, and rolled along the dirt floor, each trying to pin each other to the ground. England's comm had fallen off, and crackled on the floor a few feet away.

"Hey England, Japan just sent something to the whole ship. I think we should see it," came America's voice.

Throwing an elbow into France's stomach, England threw him off and crawled to the comm.

"And stay down, you murdering lunatic!" he shouted over his shoulder. France moaned, weakly grabbing after England's feet. One of the biodome walls began to glow.

"It should be loading," America said. "Damn it, Japan, I need some help with this. Where are you?"

The screen on the biodome console flickered to life. It was dark, but England could hear breathing. Both he and France got to their feet, fight forgotten. England tried to rub the dirt out of his eyes as he struggled to make out what was going on.

Once the shoddy footage finished, both men stood completely still. England realized that he still had one hand over in his eye. With shaking breath, he lowered it and turned to France.

France had gone whiter than England had though possible. Trembling, he sank to the ground, eyes never leaving the now blank screen.

"Did… Did I do that?" France whispered.

"No," England said firmly. "No, you didn't. You were wrong about Germany, but this isn't your fault."

America spoke over the comm. "He's right, France. You couldn't have prevented or caused this."

France shook his head, just a little. "If I hadn't…Maybe he would…What? What have I—?" he babbled. He turned to England, face drawn in pain. "I'll stay here. Quarantined."

"While that has some benefits, the whole situation has changed. We need to reevaluate—" England started.

"No," France insisted. "You both saw what happened to me. I can't… I can't trust myself. You can't trust me. So I'll stay."

"But—"

"Let him," America said over the comm. England was baffled, but the guilt in France's face and the soundness of America's voice convinced him.

"Fine," he said. "France you are restricted to the biodome for the unnecessary murder of Germany, and for the consequences of that murder which possibly lead to the death of another crewmate. Any movement outside the biodome and we reserve the right to forcefully return you within its boundaries."

"Thank you," France said, and he turned and walked away, leaving England standing by the door. The comm crackled.

"England?" it was America. "Meet me in the control dome? We need to brief Austria and Hungary."

"Fine, I'll be there in a few minutes."


	11. Chapter 11

The door creaked open to the control dome. England entered, completely drained. America sat on the edge of the console, waiting. He held out his hand and England took it and joined America.

"Why did you tell me to go through with the quarantine?" England asked.

America sighed and fidgeted. "It's sort of hard to explain," he said. "He felt so guilty… It's almost a relief when you can be punished." England noticed the strange switch to the second person pronoun, but before he could press, Austria and Hungary walked in together.

"Who's dead?" Austria asked. He still walked with a slight limp.

"Germany and Japan," England answered. The remaining crew stood for a moment of silence for the dead.

"How?" Hungary ventured. England silenced her with a shake of her head.

"Not good," he said. "France is currently locked in a self-imposed quarantine."

A look of shook passed over Austria and Hungary's faces. The implication was clear. They looked down in silence.

"What do we do now?" Hungary asked. She leaned into Austria, who didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around her.

"Whatever you want," England said. "As far as we know, we're dead. But then again, who knows?" He laughed, dry and strangled. "Perhaps a miracle will happen."

Austria and Hungary chuckled drily. "An odd time to find your faith, England," Austria said. "Though I suppose hope of that sort can be a comfort."

Hungary nodded and stepped forward to look at the video feeds that still came in above the console. The red cliffs outside stood silent and disconcertingly peaceful. "I haven't thought about faith since the Great Famines twenty years ago," she said, then looked up startled, as if she had let something slip. Home wasn't something anyone talked about, as an unspoken rule. However, England nodded encouragingly. It wasn't as if they could betray each other now.

Hungary gave a wan smile in return then continued. "My mother was devout. New Congregational. When she starved to death on a tiny tenet farm in the middle of nowhere, I guess what faith I had died with her."

That startled the group. England knew his own planet suffered. The terraforming done when the planet was first colonized was starting to fail, and the planet was reverting to its original, wetter climate. He supposed it wasn't farfetched that the other planets suffered similarly. He'd never thought about it, though. All his focus had been on keeping his own people's vulnerability unknown to those who might use it against them.

"I know the feeling," England admitted, "I lost my own when I saw an entire island full of people drown in the sea." He stood quietly for a moment before going on. "Though perhaps I'll pick it back up. Church of England, of course. God knows I could use a little faith in our existence right now."

"Then are we here by the hand of God, or of the Devil?" America asked. It was asked honestly, though it clouded the air with the discomfort.

"I think we're here by our own hands and the hands of other people. We just have terrible luck," Austria said after a moment. Hungary nodded alongside him. After another ponderous silence, both made to leave.

"What will you do now?" England asked as the couple made for the door.

"I think goodbyes are in order," Hungary said. "A final transmission home. Not… that there's anyone to say goodbye to, but I think at least the government will appreciate what little I can give them."

"Sounds fair to me," England said. "But if the lights start to go…"

"We'll run," Austria assured him. "Who knows? Maybe we will get that miracle."

"Right," England said, and gave a salute to both officers. They returned the gesture and made for their room.

* * *

"This is the final transmission of geology officer Hunga—Elizaveta Héderváry, representative for the planet Hungary on the intersystem project called 'Doctor.'

"This is addressed to all government officials involved in our national space program and security. Our mission here is a failure. My crewmates and I are being picked off one by one by a creature or creatures deadly beyond what this video report could possibly convey. It is my final duty to make sure that no one ever comes here again. Do not collect our bodies, though the chance that you would find any bones at all is small. It doesn't matter. There's no one at home waiting for me anyways."

* * *

"This is the final transmission of anthropology officer Austr—Roderich Edelstein, representative of the planet Austria in the intersystem cooperative project known as 'Doctor.'

"To all the government officials concerned, it is the decision of myself and the remaining officers, including Captain…er…England? that this planet be forever sealed off, never to be revisited. We came to find life and a civilization. We found both, but not in the way we expected. The civilization is billions of years dead. The life forms detected… Well let's just say it…they—whatever—found us.

"Whatever is left of me after I die here must remain here. No one must risk setting foot on this planet ever again.

"Mother, Father, if this reaches you, know that I won't die alone. I have met a beautiful, intelligent woman from the planet Hungary. You would have liked her. I wanted you to know that even in this God-forsaken death trap your son finally found love."

* * *

"This is the final transmission of biology officer France…is Bonnefoy, representative of the planet France for the project they call 'Doctor.' How ironic.

"I will die soon—we all will. And it is a relief. I failed so many, and I am so sorry for all I have done wrong. No one must come to this planet again. Not to investigate our deaths. Not to retrieve our bodies. Don't bother, there won't be any bodies. I am ashamed to admit to the blood on my own hands, though I do not believe he would be alive anymore even had I not slain him.

"I was so sure it was him. I was scared, like the Captain said. I panicked, and I'm so sorry for what I did. I will do what I can in my remaining hours to make up for what small fraction of my crime I can. Then I will be in God's hands.

"If I could ask one favor, though. Please. Do not show this message to my fiancée, Joan. If I am to live on in her memory, I wish it to be as I was—not as this place made me."

* * *

No transmissions were sent to the planet America from Sanctuary Three.


	12. Chapter 12

Austria had promised they would run if the lights started to go. Hungary made no such promises.

* * *

Blinking, trying to hold back her own despair, Hungary left her nearly empty room. The hushed red light deepened as she walked the familiar path to Austria's room. She entered, not bothering to knock. She knew Austria wouldn't mind.

She closed the door softly behind her.

"Mother, Father, if this reaches you, know that I won't die alone. I have met a beautiful, intelligent woman from the planet Hungary. You would have liked her. I wanted you to know that even in this God-forsaken death-trap your son finally found love," Austria said, then turned off the video log.

Hungary smiled despite herself.

"You mean that?" she asked.

"That I have found love here? How could you doubt me?" Austria said, pulling her close. Hungary allowed herself a contented sigh as she leaned in close to Austria.

"No, stupid," she said.

Austria waited. When it became obvious that Hungary wasn't continuing, he pressed further.

"Then what?"

"You," she started, "you think your parents would have liked me?"

Austria smiled gently at her and kissed her forehead. "I know they would have."

"My mother… She would have hated you," Hungary confessed. Austria stared at her, taken aback.

"Oh. I see," he said, flustered. "Um. Why?"

She laughed softly. "She would think you were a pansy. A softie. With your fancy clothes and polished glasses and oh so refined air about you."

"Well  _someone_  has to make up for your lack of social grace," he mock sighed. "You like rocks better than people."

"Most people," Hungary corrected.

"Point."

They stood in the red light of night shift, just holding onto each other. Neither displayed surprise, just dismay when the lights buzzed and flickered.

Austria reached down and took Hungary's hand.

"Run." They did.

They flew through the open door of Austria's room, left open just for that purpose. Their boots raised a cacophony through the narrow spider thread tunnels of the Sanctuary base's web. Austria glanced behind him. A wall of black descended behind them like smoke. One by one, as the two racing people ran under them, the lights popped out.

But they were getting ahead, leaving the swirling shadows behind them as they neared the door to the main control room. Perhaps they would survive this after all Austria dared to think.

The though was broken when a careless step sent his already injured ankle twisting then snapping. He hit the grating with a clang and a shout.

Hungary materialized at his side. She took his hand and stared into his eyes, weary beyond anything he'd seen before. She still had a chance, even if he didn't.

"Go. You can make it," he said fighting back the blinding pain. She just shook her head. The wall closed the lead they had gained. There wasn't any time.

"Don't be stupid, Elizaveta. Get out. Survive."

"No."

The living shadows were on them, though by some divine prank they stopped just short of where the two scientists huddled. It rose, black and impenetrable—if Austria hadn't known better he would have said it was savoring the moment.

"Eliza—"

"Shut up, Roderich. I'm not leaving."

There was a breath. Then darkness fell.

* * *

England stood in the control room long after everyone else had left to send their final goodbyes. He knew he should too, but he couldn't find the motivation to do it right now. It seemed so final, like the full stop at the end of a drawn out, exhausting sentence that had somehow gone wrong in every way possible.

Maybe that analogy wasn't perfect. Nevertheless, something bothered him in the back of his mind, saying that it still wasn't over. Though, at this point England was willing to attribute that to basic survival instinct.

Leaning on the console, England stared through the open skylight, and watched the bursts of light and dust fly overhead and into the gaping maw. The eerie sight had long since ceased to both England, though it was apparent most of the others found it unsettling. He found himself vaguely wondering what was on the other side of the black hole, a thought that was ill timed, in light of the current situation. He needed to be concerned with putting his affairs in order—not philosophy.

England rose, and stretched like a cat. He was headed to his room to send his final transmission when a metallic banging started and began to draw closer. Blood chilling, England moved towards the corridor Austria and Hungary had left down. That noise was almost certainly running. Which meant the darkness was coming.

Crash.

Shout. That sounded like Austria.

Silence.

His hand on the door, England froze. He took a step back in horror, his arms slipping uselessly to his sides. His legs refused to support him. Before he understood what was happening, he was on the floor by the console. Down that hall was the biodome. Austria and Hungary were certainly dead, and perhaps the darkness had also taken France.

"Scan for human life," England ordered the computer.

"Three life forms located," the console said in its calm monotone.

"So France is still with us—cut off but alive," England said. He did not know how to feel about that. A hole his hollow confusion opened slowly began to fill with grief and anger. Someone was crying. Austria, Hungary—they had promised to run. They promised to survive and wait for their miracle.

Why hadn't they run? England thought, though his rational mind argued that the obviously  _had_  run, if the noise in the corridor was anything to go by. Someone was crying.

So they had run, yes? Then why did they stop? Someone was crying. What on earth made them give up when they were only steps away from a sealable doorway?

England heard the strangled breathing, the sobs, and for a moment was petrified. It took far too long to realize that he was the one crying.

This was the sorry state America found him in: curled up next to the console, staring at the door that held the creatures that had just taken two more of his crew.

"They're gone," England said, his voice breaking.

America looked down at the metal grating.

"There's nothing we could have done," America said, his voice soft.

"I know. That doesn't help."

"Is it just the two of us?" America asked.

"No, France is still alive. Cut off completely though"

America looked surprised, but nodded. "We should tell him the news."

"Sure, why not," England said. He still made no attempt to move. Finally, America leaned over and slung one of England's arms around his shoulders. With a heave, England was hoisted to his feet. He seemed to come back to himself.

Opening the comm link, England said, "France? France can you hear me?"

There was a short silence, then, "Yes, Captain. I hear you." His voice sounded hollow and dead.

"I have troubling news," England said. France mumbled something from the other side.

"Austria and Hungary are dead. The corridors between you and us are completely without power. In addition, it's safe to assume they are thoroughly infested with the creature or creatures that plague us."

"I understand," France said.

"There's one more thing," America said, butting in as he realized something. "Since England and I are cut off from the biodome, our air in here will only last so long. We have some food and water still packed on the rocket, but we'll run out of oxygen way before we starve."

England stared at America. He hadn't thought of that—though he hadn't been thinking clearly at all since he realized that Austria and Hungary were dead. So there was finally a time limit on their lives.

"How much time do you think we have?" he asked.

"A while. There are just two of us, and maybe a sixth of the base is still connected to us. A few days."

"And what will happen when we run out of oxygen?"

America actually smiled. "We'll be delirious for awhile, then fall asleep. A peaceful way to go, all things considered."

"Sounds nice," France said from the comm. "What about me?"

America walked around the console, bringing up various screens and scans. He stared at them all before coming back around to the comm.

"The biodome has the strongest security of any dome or corridor. Even in a base as lousy as a Sanctuary, they know to protect our life support." He ran his hands through his hair, trying to reason out the problem in his head. "Given their past behavior, I don't think the shadows can be kept out indefinitely—especially since we can't deadlock the doors. But I do think you'll outlive me and England."

There was silence over the comm. Finally, France responded, his voice poorly concealing a tremble.

"This must be my punishment for my crime. I would do anything to make up for it."

"We all would," America said, then clicked off the comm.

The room was filled only with humming of the console as England and America stood together. Finally England sighed. "I need to make a final transmission home. Have you already done so?"

America shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, of course I did!" he said, not meeting England's eyes. England stared at him for a moment, confused by the enthusiastic outburst. Just a second ago, America had been somber as he realized that their lives had a firm countdown in place.

He couldn't deal with that right now, and shaking his head, England walked toward his quarters. He had a warning to give.

Something was off when he entered the room. The video journal over his desk flashed with static, though he was sure he had turned it off earlier. He hurried over to it, trying to figure out what was going on. He tried turning on his computer. It's screen started sliding back and forth, as if something was interfering with it. If something was messing with the power in here, the power could be going out anywhere in the base. America could be dead.

Panicked, he shouted, "Computer, scan for human life!" He got nothing but a garbled voice saying something unintelligible.

"Oh, dear God," England said. His mind raced, they  _were_  dead—France and America. He was sure of it. A small, rational part of him said he wasn't thinking properly, but it was drowned in wave after wave of fear. Emotionally drained, he slumped into the desk chair and turned to the video log. Despite the interference, it seemed to still be working.

He set it to record, then slumped on the desk, hiding his exhausted eyes behind his arms.

"This is Eng—Captain Arthur Kirkland with my final report," he said. With a sigh, he lifted his head and stared into the camera. His voice sounded dead even to himself.

"They're gone. They're all gone." He heard himself say through the flood of emotions that rolled through his head. Gasping sobs ripped their way out of his chest, though he tried to keep them down.

"The lights," he whispered, and as if on cue, the lights overhead started to dance. "The lights are going out. They… They came in the dark. There was nothing we could do to stop them. The lights…" He was shaking now. He sighed, then straightened. "I'm a deadman. The mission is a failure. I can't get out, so the last thing I can do is make sure no one comes here again."

He found his way to his feet, gripping the desk for support. In his best captain's voice, he said, "Quarantine the planet. Never again shall anyone set foot here. This is one mystery you'll all have to learn to live with."

A crash came from outside the quarter's door. This was it then, the darkness had finally made it to him. He stood up straight, wanting to at least die with a little dignity.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Goodbye."

The lights wavered, then surged, and both the computer and the video journal's screens flashed and burnt out. The door was knocked open. America tumbled inside as England stared at him in utter shock.

"You're dead," he said with confusion as America picked himself up off the floor. They stared at each other before America lunged and wrapped England is his arms.

"You're alright," America said with relief. "When the computers and lights started going crazy, I thought you were a goner for sure."

"I thought the same of you," England said, returning the hug. After a moment, he stepped back to survey the video log and computer. Both were fried.

"I suppose that really was the last transmission. How is everything else?"

"The main computers seem to be fine—they have surge protectors," America said. "What I don't get is what caused them to go crazy. Whatever has been attacking the base usually just guts the power. This was something playing with the whole base's power systems."

"What does that mean for us?"

"I can't tell. Maybe the darkness has gotten smarter somehow? Trying to play with us?"

"A pleasant thought," England mumbled. "We should see if France is still alive."

With a nod, America turned and led the way back through the red-lit corridors to the control dome.


	13. Chapter 13

France took a long time to answer from the biodome. America leaned up against the console, and England paced across the metal floor. They were beginning to lose hope when the comm crackled to life and France spoke.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Did your lights and computer just go haywire?" England asked.

"Oh… Yes… About that," France stuttered. "Strange isn't it?"

Suspicions raised, England pressed further. "Completely different from anything the shadows have done before. You wouldn't happen to know if anything else caused it, would you?" he asked pointedly.

France started to speak several times, but failed. Temper rising, England finally snapped, "Just spit it out, whatever it is."

Sighing, France began again. "I was thinking, that there might be another way out besides the rocket."

Both England and America's attention became fully focused on the comm's speaker.

"Go on," America said.

"It will be difficult, and there's only so much I can do, most of it will fall to America—"

"Kindly stop babbling and tell us," England said.

"Of course, Captain," France said, with an edge of mockery that was comforting after its former hollowness. "You still have access to your own quarters. That means you still have access to the shuttle that brought you down here."

America considered this a moment. "You have a point, but those aren't designed to even escape the planet's gravity on their own, let alone travel in deep space. Even if they could do that, we don't have the power to launch," he said.

"That's all true, but it would be possible to make the modifications for deep space travel, would it not?"

"Sure, I mean… maybe…"

"You're the best mechanic I've ever seen," France said. "I don't believe it would be too hard for you."

America was starting to get flustered. He whirled around the dome until he found a pad of paper and a pencil. He was furiously scratching away. A short time later, he responded to France.

"Yes, there are modifications I could use to get a shuttle fit for deep space travel. However, even though I can, she would never fly. We'd need three times as much power as the main dome generates to get lift off."

England broke in. "It's absolutely out of the question," he stated flatly. "The shuttle is designed for one single person. Two people in it would be pushing. Even if we could get to France, we wouldn't survive. I refuse to abandon any survivors of this crew. If we can't take you with us, we'll die with you."

France huffed irritably. "Your sentiment is admirable, Captain, really. But I deserve to die—"

"I've made my decision," England said. Headless, France continued.

"Thankfully," he said, "I have solutions to both your problems." His voice rose, gaining a tone of determination England hadn't heard for days on the base. France was planning something.

"The electrical chaos you experienced earlier was my fault," he said.

"What?" England shouted. "You could have killed us all!"

"But I didn't. Now kindly shut your mouth and keep it closed, Captain—with all due respect."

America broke in, raising his voice as he checked all the electrical readings on the console. "You're not a computer tech—how did you do this?"

France gave a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "What, do you think I run the biodome by hand? I may not be a computer or electrical genius, but I make sure my dome runs, which takes more than a little skill."

"What did he do?" England whispered, leaning close to America.

"Trying to figure it out right now—Oh God. France? What the fuck are you doing?"

"Solving the problems keeping you here. Elegantly," France said cheerfully.

"What is it?" England demanded. America stared at him, wide eyed. He looked at the read outs, then at the comm speaker, then back to England, as if double-checking that his conclusion was accurate.

"He…He's managed to reroute the power of the biodome's generator. He's somehow patched it through to this dome's power."

The comm buzzed. "That'll increase your available power by at least five times. The biodome obviously takes enormous amounts of power. Rerouted, it will give you more than enough for lift off."

England stared at America in puzzlement. "Was that what made the computers go haywire? The power being rerouted?"

America shook his head. "No. It hasn't happened yet."

"Correct," France said. "I needed to tell you—make sure you knew what to do with my modifications. I flip a switch, the power gets patched through. Between all the electrical airlocks going down and the security keeping the shadows out inactive, I'll be dead in minutes." He actually sounded relieved at that. "You won't be abandoning anyone, Captain."

"I can't allow this," England said, frantic. He looked to America for support, but the mechanic stared wistfully at the comm. He wouldn't meet England's eyes.

"There's nothing you can do," France said. "I…I made a horrible choice. For that I know I will never be forgiven, but now I can start atoning for my crime." England wasn't sure how he knew, but he could sense that France was crying.

"Stop it," England ordered. "Stop this right now. We won't leave you!"

"Quiet. It's alright," he said, voice starting to shake. "I'm not giving you a choice—it's my time. But it's not over for you. I've giving that to you."

"France!" England shouted.

"Perhaps I will see you in Purgatory, Captain? Either way, farewell."

The comm clicked off. A humming started, small and distant, and gradually grew to a roar as all the lights grew brighter.

Had anyone been watching the base from the planet's orbit, they would have seen the warm yellow glow of the biodome, standing at the end of a web of dark hallways, dim and snuff out. On the other side of the base, the light of the surviving domes and corridors grew to a blinding whiteness and shattered in a rain of sparks and broken glass.

* * *

Eventually the power levels settled, and the roaring dimmed to a mere humming. America and England were crouched together. Slowly they rose, dusting embers and shards of glass from each other.

There should have been some emotion—grief, relief, hope, excitement. But England just felt tired. Those emotions could wait until they were on the ship and away from this cursed lump of rock. America looked at him as if he also wouldn't believe their luck until they were out.

"Get your stuff together," America said, turning to the console's computer. "I'll start the modifications. I need to do them from here, it's mostly the shuttle computer and navigation system that needs to be altered."

"We'll not forget your sacrifice, France," England said to the air. "We'll use your gift, and may you find some peace."

He had turned to return to his quarters when America hugged him from behind. When he was released, England turned, eyebrows raised.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Just… Be careful. You never know what could happen."

"You and I are getting out of here," England insisted.

"Yeah, I know," America said. "Just… you know… watch your back and stay safe."

"Under any other circumstances, I'd think you were coming on to me," England said. America flushed and refused to look up. "Ah well," England continued. "Supposing we get out of this mess, who knows what'll happen."

He smiled at America, and then ran down to his quarters. America stood looking after him. "Who knows, huh?" he said.

* * *

In his quarters, England collected what few belongings he could carry, including the first tome they had discovered and strange egg-like artifact, or "Stone-spring", that it mentioned. He placed them into a bag then made his way to the shuttle. He climbed into the cramped cabin. It would be tight living with two people in here, but England was confident that they would manage. And perhaps the proximity would be pleasant. Of all the crewmembers, England was glad he had America to journey with. They had become close over the past weeks, though England had refused to entertain any thoughts about them due to the death sentence hanging over all of the crew.

Though now thoughts of what could occur in such a small space between him and America kept bubbling up, and England tentatively let himself entertain them. As he walked back and forth between his room and the shuttle, moving dehydrated provisions onto the ship, England discovered that these thoughts were very pleasant indeed. All they needed was to get on the ship and get out of here. America should be arriving any second.

All the food had just been loaded when America's voice came over the comm.

"Power's out," he said emotionlessly.

England froze.

"What did you say?"

"Power's out in the corridor between you and me. They must have got in somehow."

The shuttle started to hum to life. Dials began to glow and the computer flashed on.

"America what are you doing?"

"Getting you out," he said calmly.

"No," England said. "Stop it! I'm not going to leave you."

"I'm not exactly giving you a choice, England."

England stared around the fully stocked shuttle, sick looking in its orange glow. He grabbed levers, threw switches pressed buttons—anything that might result in aborting the imminent launch.

"It's no use, England. I've got total control of the shuttle. You'll be alright soon."

"No I won't, you lunatic! You're not here. This is all wrong! Stop it! STOP IT!"

Lashing out, his fist smashed through the computer screen, slashing his hand into ribbons. The screen went black and the hum leveled off. England leaned back in the chair, listening to nothing but the quiet droning.

"Goddamn it, England," America swore after a moment. "The computer's offline. You'll never get out of here now!"

"Good."

"Fuck it, England. You sound like a five-year-old. Do you want to die?"

"If my options are abandoning you or dying, I'll take the latter."

There was silence over the comm. When America spoke again, his voice was cracking.

"No. No. I'm not worth it." His voice got muffled. He must have put his head in his hands "England, why did you do that?"

"I'll take that as a rhetorical question," England said.

England stared off into space, watching the flashing lights run up and down the shuttle walls. According to America, he was trapped here. He wondered how long he had.

"What do we do now?" England ventured.

"I don't fucking know," America said. "I'm cut off from every way out. You put your fist or shoe or something through the computer. I suppose I could talk you through how to fix it, but that would require you doing as I tell you."

"I believe I've already made it clear that I'm not leaving without you," England said as he pulled the tome, his notebooks, and the egg out of the bag he had brought. As there was nothing else to do, he figured he might as well go back to translating.

He laid all his work out across the flight equipment. Slowly he picked up where he'd left up on the egg's description. The work was frustrating. England felt like he was on the verge of a breakthrough. Just a little more progress then the text would be made clear to him. As he worked, he and America started chatting idly—there was nothing else for America to do.

"America?" England said.

"What?"

"Do…do you think that if things were different… that things between us could have been something?"

"Wow, linguistic skills coming off strong there, buddy."

"Answer the question," England said.

There was a pause, then a sigh. England glared at the comm's speaker. He wished he could see America's expression.

"I don't know England. I mean, you're this great leader person and linguist. You don't want me."

"I'm not sure I understand," England said. "You seem very affectionate towards me."

"Yeah, I guess I am," America chuckled. "For selfish reasons. I know I should stop. But that's sort of difficult."

"I'm not sure where all this self-resentment comes from, America. We would have been dead many times over if not for you. I—I'll be honest with you. I don't believe I want you to stop with the affection."

"Executive decision here," America said. "If we ever do see each other again, no more."

"How can you say that? How dare you tell me what I want?"

"It's for your own good."

"Don't give me such bullshit—I can look after myself. America—no, Matthew—"

"Don't call me that!" America interrupted, panicked. "Don't say that name! Shut up! Shut up!"

"What on earth is wrong with you?" England shouted back. He could only hear heavy breathing.

"That's… That's not my name," America said shakily.

"What?"

"That's not my name!"

"How can it not be your name?" England said. "I received profiles of every crew member when we arrived. You're Matthew Jones-Williams, oldest son of Amelia Jones and Matthew Williams, Sr. You even look exactly like the photo in the file!"

"That file is for Captain Matthew Jones-Williams, head engineer of the United American Space Program."

"And you're not an engineer. We've established that," England said, trying to follow.

"Right. Everything in that file is true. I'm the only fraudulent thing from America here."

England pressed his forehead to the cool metal of the egg. Everything seemed to be crumbling around the already ruined mission.

"America," he whispered, "who are you, really?"

Still silence strung out as England waited for a reply. After long minutes of nothing, America answered.

"My name is Alfred Jones-Williams. Matthew was my older brother. Older twin brother."

"What are you doing here?" England asked, trying to digest the new information.

"It's a very long story," America said.

England leaned back in the shuttle's chair. He glared at the comm speaker, as it if would bite him.

"Well, as I am not leaving anytime soon, tell it to me."

"I'm not sure—"

"That's an order from your captain, America."

"Fine."

* * *

"Even though we were twins, Matt and I never got along all that well. We were both smart as hell, and maybe I even had a bit of an edge over him, but Matt was always the star of the family. Perfect grades, perfect teacher conferences, perfect ambitions.

"Dad wanted both of us to go into engineering since the sciences were where we both were great. Everything was fine for a while, but soon, I just couldn't stand being in school. So I dropped out. Matt tried to talk me out of it, too. But I just couldn't take the expectations anymore. Matt was fine at the boring life of a student, but… it couldn't do it. He got mad. Said he'd tell Dad on me. So I slugged Matt in the face and we never spoke again.

"He was right though—Dad was pissed as hell when he found out what had happened. I didn't care anymore. I got a job as a mechanic and got fucking good at it, so he eventually got off my back.

"But Matt—both of us had always wanted to go into space ever since we were kids. And, well, he got it. UASP snatched him up and swept him off to their big, state-funded facilities."

"And what does this have to do with you stealing your brother's place on the mission? I would report this to them if I were able."

"You couldn't contact them even if you could send a transmission."

"And why not?"

"Because America doesn't exist anymore."

"I…er…continue"

"All this UASP stuff was happening right about the time the Galactic War was reaching its height. America was completely alone. No allies—just enemy systems surrounding us. But we had one advantage.

"We never had any terraforming problems."

"How is that possible? All the planets in every system were having terraforming regression problems. We heard that from our own crew. We all used the same technology! How could America not be affected?"

"Easy. We never terraformed the planet in the first place. When the Starship USA fled Earth, our nation was so ravaged we couldn't even afford terraforming tech. So when we founded America, we just…adapted. It was hard, but livable, and eventually we were better for it.

"When the other systems' terraforming disasters hit, America continued to raise up as a political and economic power. When the War got bad, we had the resources to deal with it.

"They called it the New Manhattan Project."

"A bomb?"

"Yeah. A bomb that could blow up an entire planet and irradiate whole systems."

"Why didn't I hear about this?"

"It was top secret of course. Secrets are easier to keep when light-years separate us rather than a measly ocean."

"But it was never used?"

"No. It was used."

"…Go on."

"Well, just because no other systems learned about the bomb doesn't mean the American people didn't. There was a massive uprising. The majority of the people rallied against it, saying stuff like 'Hiroshima and Nagasaki were enough.'

"It wouldn't stop the government though. So a people's movement started. The goal was to use any means necessary—political power, economic influence, sabotage—to insure that this bomb was never used against any system.

"My brother got caught up on the wrong side of things, since he was working for the government. He was convinced that if the upcoming project "Doctor"—for which he was representing America—were successful, then combining that with the bomb would be enough of a deterrent to protect America. He was convinced we would never use the bomb. And he could have been right. But many people, including the rest of my family and I, were just not willing to take that risk. We had to stop that bomb from being built.

"America erupted in civil and political chaos. We failed. The bomb was built. The War got worse, and the government was going to use their new toy.

"The bomb was active, and about to be sent across the galaxy to blow up some starving, desperate system. So we put it to a popular vote. Seventy-nine percent of the people voted to save people they never knew and destroy their own planet.

"My brother, Matthew, was never for the plan—always thought that this project here would solve everything. He became estranged from us for the reason I finally got my ass to care about anything. It wasn't fair.

"I was at the UASP facilities, helping install the final coordinates lock on the bomb. I made sure my own planet got blown up, betraying my brother and his dream project that might have worked. We…we just couldn't risk it. Don't you get it?

"After the lock was set, something hit me in the back of the head. I blacked out, and woke up to the world ending. I was in a tiny cramped cabin of a space shuttle. Finally achieving my dream of being in outer space while watching my home blow up and riding the shockwave out and out and out.

"I know it was Matt who took a wrench or something to the back of my head and sent me out here. I just don't get why. I was prepared to die. It was the right thing to do. He should have made it out. He was the one who believed in this project, not me, not Mom or Dad. But he shoved me in his shuttle and locked the destination. Then he burned with everyone I had ever known.

"I wanted to die. I wanted to die more than I ever thought possible. There were times when I stared out the shuttle door and just thought, 'just flick a switch and you'll be dead like you should be.'

"When I was working to sabotage the bomb, I never really thought about the consequences—they didn't matter because I would be dead.

"Because, England, don't you see? I  _murdered_  my entire planet. There were half a billion people there. How can anyone live with that?"

"You obviously did somehow."

"It started out as guilt. Every time I was about to throw myself out into space I would hear Matt. Hear him at those strained Christmas dinners yelling with Dad over politics and how his stupid space mission would solve everything.

"He wouldn't have switched places with me if he thought I couldn't have done his job on the mission. And obviously I could. But he saved his lousy, dropout of a brother. Matt had it all. I still don't understand why he would give up everything—his dream of outer space, his pet project, his life.

"I owed it to him to see the project through. So I did, at least at first.

"Just at first."

"Yeah. It's funny. After awhile I got this crazy idea that maybe Matt was right. Maybe this project could have fixed everything. I started living for them. Then, when things went to hell in a hand basket, I started living for you."

"For me."

"It would have been easy, understandable, just to give up. Part of me always was waving out an invitation for death. But you needed someone. And it was the least I could do."

"What exactly are you trying to say, America?"

"I'm saying that you're the only reason I'm still alive."


	14. Chapter 14

England sat silently, slowly processing America's story. It all started to fall into place: America's strange mood swings, the absence of any contact between him and his home planet through the video logs, the panic that seemed to overcome him when the crew was in danger, his disregard for his own safety and well being—the list went on.

Then there was that last confession, that America had been living this past week or so for  _England_. That alone conjured many conflicting emotions, and England couldn't determine how he was supposed to feel.

"America… I—"

"It's alright," America said. "It all means nothing now. We'll both be dead soon."

England couldn't argue with that. At a loss, he turned back to the translation. His heart was not in it, though. His mind kept reflecting back on America's story and losing its train of thought. He gave a frustrated sigh.

The characters for the "stone-spring" sat in front of his nose—as unfathomable as ever. Yet all he could think of was how the Americans could have survived on their new planet without terraforming technology. It was beyond lucky that they found a breathable atmosphere in the first place. To survive, or rather, to thrive in a completely alien ecosystem was a miracle.

England, the planet, had been a drowned world when his people found it. Oceans had covered the whole planet. However, from the perspectives of refugees, that much liquid water was still more than they had dared to hope for. The terraforming process had brought up large islands of the planet's rocky ocean bed. England himself had seen the old grainy footage of the process. The waters of planet had churned violently, and over the course of months dry land rose out of the sea just as water bubbles up from a spring—

From a spring.

A spring that bubbled up stone.

A  _stone spring._

England stared dumbly down at the egg and the tome that sat next to it. Had he just been thinking about the words incorrectly? Could the egg really be a source of land—some kind of terraforming device?

Feeling more aware than he had in weeks, England turned to the passage under the diagram of the egg whose translation had stumped him more than any other passage.

It all began to fall into place. With the new-found context, the jumble of words arranged themselves into sentences, and then the sentences into concepts. After about a half hour, England had the small description deciphered:

" _Illustrated is the stone-spring, which maintains our land even though the Darkness closes in around us. It is of utmost importance that these instructions remain. When our sun died, we were able to survive underground with our stone-spring. It would make the caves hospitable for several weeks, until the black hole sucked it all away. When that happened, the stone-spring would be ready to function again. This was back before we had to fear the Darkness. We fear the worst now, as the energy from the stone-spring is the only way we've found to keep the Darkness at bay. But the light from the stone-spring cannot be maintained. It needs time to recharge in order to let livable land spring forth again. The Darkness gives us no rest. We fear the worst._

" _To activate the stone-spring, open latch on the top and fill with water. Shake vigorously. When ready, the clasps around the center of the device will open. Pull apart the two haves of the stone-spring to release the stabilizing and transforming microbes. As the microbes are released, the stone-spring will glow. Once the process is completed, the glow will fade. The stone-spring requires recharging of at least two weeks or high exposure to radiation."_

England stared down at the translation. While he was confident in his skill as a linguist, he was still surprised at how easily the translation had come. It was likely not perfect, but hopefully he had made no error too large. He laughed, a little breathlessly.

"America."

"Hmm? What is it?" America asked over the comm.

"I've got it. This artifact and the passage describing it! I was think about your planet and my planet then I realized what this egg artifact really is."

"Okay; what is it?"

"A  _terraformer_."

There was a pause. "Well, um. That's interesting, I guess," America said.

England huffed irritably. "Don't you get it? This is it—what the planets need! Our terraforming hasn't worked right, but this civilization's did. If we can just get it to the systems, we could start bring the Galactic War to an end!"

"That's great, England," America said doubtfully, "But we're stuck here."

"No," said England, "I'm coming to get you."

Before America could raise any arguments, England clicked off of the comm and prepared to leave. He didn't know how well the terraformer would hold off the shadows; he refused to think about it.

The terraformer's dull, brass exterior felt oddly warm in England's hands as he picked it up. After staring at the diagram in the tome, he managed to find the latch it spoke of. He tried peering inside, but could see nothing of its inner mechanics, though he could smell an earthy scent rising out of it.

Hoping he had translated the instructions correctly, he filled the inside with water from the emergency supplies he had gathered. With a snap, he closed the latch and waited. Nothing seemed to be happening, and the terraformer certainly didn't start to glow.

England returned to his translations. Perhaps he had misunderstood? Had he done something wrong? How long did it normally take? However, a part of his mind acknowledged that the device could simply be broken.

When he could not find an error in his translation, he slumped back. He ran his hand over his eyes in frustration. When he let it fall, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. The egg, while it couldn't be said to be glowing, was certainly seemed to be shinier. As he watched, the symbols on the side did start to light up. Soon the metal was indeed giving off a warm golden glow.

"It worked!" England shouted to the empty shuttle. He couldn't contain his smile or a small yelp of triumph as the small clasps around the middle of the artifact popped open.

Taking the terraformer in his hands, England tugged the two haves. With a gritty scraping sound, the clasps slide out an up, and opened up a gap in the middle of the egg. A strange mist crept out of the gap. It looked gold as it reflected the terraformers glow. Now he just needed America and they could get out of here.

England lowered himself to the shuttle's exit. The Darkness was on the other side of the door, ready to strike. If the people who had written the description of the terraformer were right, the glow and mist from the device should keep those shadows at bay. Regardless, England found himself trembling as he reached to open the hatch.

His hands came to rest on the handle. He stayed like that, frozen, for a long while.

"It's die out there or die in here," he mumbled to himself. Steeling his courage, he opened the hatch and entered the dark corridor.

The light from the terraformer was immediately dimmed. The corridor was long and straight, and the light should have reached all the way down it, even just enough to show a grey outline of things. It didn't. As England walked, the light gathered around him, as if it were being physically pressed into a perfect sphere. Just a short distance away from him, the glow came to an abrupt stop, and the thick blackness surrounded him. Out of the corner of his eyes, England though he could see movement, great thick worms of shadows, swarming just out of sight. But when he turned to look, there was nothing, just the dark.

He picked up his pace until he was running down the corridor. The sphere of light seemed to be shrinking ever so slightly. It may have been his tired, paranoid mind, but England was convinced that the glow was dimming.

With a loud banging, he broke out of the corridor and slammed the door behind him. America was probably in the control room, just a small distance away. He sprinted, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his sides began to ache.

He barged into the control room, and his heart skipped several beats. America was lying motionless in the chair, his feet propped up on the console. Then, to England's relief, America jolted out of a light doze and tumbled to the floor.

"How the hell did you get here?" America asked. He looked worse for wear. His face was pale and waxy; his hands shook slightly.

"I'll explain later," England said. "For now, we just need to go."

America didn't move.

"Come on," England insisted as he shuffled the glowing terraformer to his other arm.

America stared up at him blankly.

"No. I don't want to."

That caught England off guard. He felt a knot form in the center of his stomach and a chill spread through his arms and down to his toes. He looked at America whose body was sprawled on the floor bonelessly. He wasn't even expending the effort to make eye contact.

"After all we've been through to get here, America—how can you say that?"

"Easy. I just want this to be over." America sounded completely exhausted. Recounting his story must have taken a huge emotional toll on him. He finally glanced up and met England's eyes. he recoiled, cringing in what seemed like shame.

"You can't blame yourself for everything that happened—" England said in an attempt to comfort America. He set the terraformer down and reached out for America. His hand was batted away.

"Sure I can," America said flatly. "Don't give me that shit. I was instrumental to their deaths."

England was at a loss. The problem was that America was right. He did bear the survivors burden. But could that really stop him from wanting to leave?

"What about me?" England asked softly. "What if I need you?"

America stiffened then sighed. "I'm sorry. But I just… can't." His voice cracked. "I couldn't save my home. I couldn't save the crew. I can't save you. I failed and I'm so sorry."

England felt his feet tremble beneath him. The world seemed to be slipping. He had come so far, discovered the secrets of an ancient civilization. This was not the time for an emotional meltdown, regardless of how justified it was. And it was justified, England knew. But that knowledge began to slip to the back of England's mind where it couldn't interfere.

"Sorry?" England said, voice rising. "You're sorry?"

The lights flickered, and an odd popping sound started in the pipes. America looked dully up at him, not seeming to comprehend what England was saying.

"How could you possibly think 'sorry' could even begin to cover what you've done—are doing?"

Three pipes in the corner burst, spewing steam into the room. The lights were dancing now.

"We're getting out of here," England shouted over this hissing. "Now."

He tried pulling America up by the arm. America refused to move and remained lying spiritless on the metal grating.

"Why?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because we have to," England said, throwing up his arms. He bent down lifted the terraformer back into the crook oh his arm. When he straightened again, he glared down at America in disbelief and his free hand tightened into a white knuckled fist. "Do you think you can just die here and that will make what you've done go away?"

America stared at the ceiling and muttered, "Worked for France—he found some peace by the end."

England laughed, low and bitterly cold. He reached down with one hand and took America by the collar and gave it a good tug. America's eyes were forced to meet England's as he was dragged to his knees.

"France murdered one man," England said as his eyes narrowed. "You have  _millions_  of lives on your conscience. You're a fool if you think the two cases are anywhere near equal." He could feel America's damp breath catch as he said spoke. Other than that, he remained limp in England's grip.

"Then what do I do?" America said. He turned and tried to shrink away from England.

"What do you think?" England shouted back, unrelenting. He pulled America's face closer and forced the other to lock eyes with him. "There may be nothing you can do, ever, to make up for the lives you took. So you'd better get your fucking ass in gear and start working  _every single day_  for the  _rest of your life_  to try."

The steam had filled the room, and America's face grew blurry. England felt him twitch, as if he were trying to curl up in a ball. For a moment England felt a pang of regret for doing this to America. He shook his head to clear it away— _England's_  regret had no place in this conversation if he wanted to get both of them out alive.

"I lived. I lived; I came to this project—why isn't that enough?" America said. His voice still sounded empty, but he turned more towards England.

"You lived for your brother," England said. His voice lost its volume but none of its edge. One hand still clutched the terraformer while the other retained its hold on America's collar. "That's one life. Half a billion minus one to go."

For a while America did nothing. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He hardly breathed. Finally, he placed his feet under him and stood. England let his hand fall and stood with him.

America looked at the softly glowing terraformer with apprehension.

"That thing," he said, glancing up at England. "What exactly does it do?"

"It releases microbes that transform and stabilize ecosystems."

"The systems—the whole galaxy could really use that, huh?"

"Understatement."

"There are billions of people who I could help if we get this thing out of here. That… would be a good start. For making up for the America's blood on my hands?"

"I believe so," England said, carefully observing America.

America reached out and took the terraformer in his own hands. He stared at it, then sighed and slumped. "You're right England. We have to move."

England opened his mouth to respond when the popping sounds surrounding them grew to clanging, and more pipes began to burst. The lights above them blinked, but refused to go out completely.

"They don't want us to leave," England said, his voice hushed. "The Darkness, that is. We've got to get out of here, now."

They ran for the door. Behind them, the console sent up a flurry of sparks as the steam damped it. One of the sparks caught, and smoke began mingling with the steam.

"Shit," America said, glancing over his shoulder. "If this place catches on fire, it won't be too long before the whole place explodes."

"Even with all the steam moisture?" England panted.

"The console's full of plastic and oil, it'll burn and superheat the steam," America said. "Then  _boom_."

They threw open the door as they reached it and rushed into the dark corridor. The shadows pressed in around them, closer this time than when England had first passed through. And getting closer. The Darkness was furious, and both America and England saw the tendrils and ribbons of solid shadows writhing over their small sphere of light. America tucked the terraformer under his arm and took England's hand. They sprinted down the straight corridor. A screaming started up—a noise that they seemed to feel rather than hear, like the ringing of electronics in a silent room.

The Darkness thrashed over and around them, until it seemed that they were moving through a sea of tendrils that tried to grasp the sphere of light and squeeze it out. Already America had to run hunched over so that the top of his head still remained in the globe. And out of their grasp.

The light dimmed the further they went, until the outer shell seemed to be boiling with shadows.

Eventually individual tendrils started shooting into the sphere, only to disintegrate in the terraformers glow. But as the glow dulled and their sphere compressed, they started to get closer. One finally burst in and brushed England across the cheek. A shallow strip of flesh burned away as the tendril died.

England cried out and wiped at his cheek. His hand came away dripping with blood. He felt the warm liquid spill down his face and drip onto the floor they rushed over.

More and more tendrils managed to get access, until England was running with his arm over his face, desperately trying to protect it. America was faring even worse, as he held the terraformer.

Neither dared to let go of their hands, or they would surely lose each other.

By the time they reached the door, the walls of the sphere looked and writhed like a wall of anemones. Most of the tendrils didn't make it close to America and England, but those that did came more frequently and stayed longer. Finally, England managed to grabb the door handle and put all his weight into it. It opened with a squeal. They fell into the shuttle, and the door slammed behind them.

They lay there, bleeding from many long strips of devoured flesh for only half a second before scrambling to their feet. The room spun and both America and England saw stars at the edges of their vision.

The lights inside the shuttle were flashing red—the base was in danger. America ran to the shuttle controls, slipping a little from dizziness and the blood-slick floor. He reached inside the screen that England had punched a hole through and broke off more glass fragments of the screen, allowing himself better access.

"All the software is installed," he said as England approached him from behind, apprehensive. "But I'll need to hot wire this thing to get liftoff since the interface is gone."

They froze as something crashed against the shuttle's door, rattling the bolts and echoing through small space.

"I don't think I need to tell you to hurry. But, please, hurry."

"Grab a flashlight or something?" America said.

England turned away and ruffled through the supplies. Food, food, water, food, filters, medical equipment (they'd need that soon)—there it was!

He grabbed the torch and huddled over America's shoulder, shining it inside.

America worked quickly and without heed of the broken glass. He was already bleeding heavily all over, so what were a few more cuts and scratches.

"Shuttle power cells full," America muttered. He tore apart and reconnected the wires with precision, and soon enough the rumble of the shuttle's engines began.

The banging increased against the door. One of the bolts keeping the door in place rattled off and clattered to the floor.

"Shuttle disengaged from the base."

The red lights still flashed ominously overhead. England swore he could hear the steam whistling from the main control room. That thought was wiped away as the entire shuttle rocked as if shaken.

England stumbled to the shuttle's outside image feeds. He flicked them on, and was greeted with the sea of Darkness, just as it looked in the corridor.

"They—it's got us completely surrounded," England shouted. The shuttle tipped again, and stayed that way for far too long before righting itself again.

"Hold on," America said to no one in particular. "Full stores activated. We should have liftoff in just a few seconds."

America leaned back slightly, but still within quick reach of the wires in case more work was needed. England stood by the monitor, listening as the rumble grew to a roar and the shuttle was filled with a slight burning scent. With another heavy clang at the shuttle's hatch, two more large bolts popped off. The door itself was vibrating, and black, misty shadows were beginning to seep through at the corners—though England couldn't actually tell if those were real or not.

The roaring flared. The rocket gave its largest shudder yet. Stumbling, England and America fell on top of each other.

"What was that?" England shouted over the deafening roar of the engines.

"Liftoff!" America shouted back.

Stumbling to their feet, they went to the shuttle's monitor. Oily black ribbons peeled away, falling back towards the planet. Finally, the screen was clear of shadows. Both men slumped with relief.

They gazed back down at the planet's surface. The lights in the main dome were flashing like strobes. Then, with an enormous cracking sound, it exploded.

It was like no fireball England could have imagined. It was flat, in the exact shape of the base, and was snuffed out in an instant, its oxygen lost.

They reached clear space.

America and England stared down at the charred remain of the Sanctuary Base, Third Model. It crumbled onto the planet as grey dust. Soon they were far enough away that they couldn't see it at all. They gazed down at the planet, so peaceful-looking as light and time and stardust washed over it and into the black hole. All trace of the Darkness was lost—or more likely, back hiding in the strange, shifting shadows of the planet.

"It's over," England said, his voice beyond tired. He found the pilot's seat and collapsed into it.

"No," America said, picking up the terraformer. "It's just begun."

"I suppose you're right. We do have a long journey ahead of us."

With a small, half smile, America squeezed in next to England. It wasn't exactly a comfortable fit, but it would have to do.

"There's so much to do," America said, staring absently at the side of the shuttle. "Do you have any idea on where to start."

"Not at all," England confessed. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "But we have a long time to plan."

America was still for a long time. Eventually he sighed and shifted to find a more comfortable place in the chair. England adjusted himself to, and smiled when he realized he could feel America's heartbeat.

"You're right" America said. "It'll be months before we reach the nearest system."

England nodded. He let his fingers drum along America's arms. They still needed bandages. "You and me," England said after a moment, "We've got, what? A hotwired shuttle, some texts that are falling apart, and technology from billions of years ago."

They sat in silence, weighing the situation. When England spoke up again, he said:

"So, are you ready to save the galaxy?"

**Fin**


End file.
